He plays the Lyre of all our lives – Artists, a mere string or two do strum.
Mocking another’s creation by duplicating and tampering with the notes, O Child,
is the mocking, the thwarting, of God’s own divine hum;
and though mere mortals may falter, He always does recognise – the true, from the false song.
In wily wisps of curling green, envy will, now and then, reveal her serpentine face;
Born to trick and cause mischief, she never will care for pain and disgrace.
Let her then slither slyly past you, fear not – let take her fill of fallen fruit,
e’en as her nape slides past today from His ever swinging sword of Justice.
Art is born in one’s heart; nurtured by the soul of which there never can be two.
Remember that Imitations are what they are, O Child, for they never hold true!
“Be humbled in the knowledge of your uniqueness” He whispers to my broken heart,
“Imitations will cease like transient illusions but you, will never cease to be you!”
© Isha Garg
This may very well be the last poem I post here for a while now, dear reader. I’m sorry, it isn’t permanent, but I really have been forced to think twice about where and with whom I share my thoughts, and must take a moment before I return with new courage.
I will keep you updated about the next step on the journey of Ishaisms.
Till then, more art, and a massive thank you for being here. You can read my book, “Dark River, a deluge of poetry” available online.