What's art,
apart from being born smart,
or playing raspy our own part?
What's art,
besides turning fugal in hour of need,
or sagaciously doing a good deed?
What's art
in inking down words stupendous,
that could make one wonder,
but ourselves making blunders?
What's art
when the colours of selfishness,
sparkle on a canvas of goodness,
or a voice that could melt,
only with money dealt?
Analyzing the magic innate,
and advocating a brotherly spate,
is a creative mind's true fate.
Finding oneself yet securing dignity,
couples an artist with humanity.
That's Art.
