THE ART WEEP

For each dishonoured sheet
Off her colouring book
Art weeps silently
You could hear it if you would

Curtailed by the sciences
And neurons of foreign minds
She remained an artist
Of the sub-conscious kind

Then one day, in time
The progress graph inclined
Her text books won the battle
Her poetry misplaced its rhyme

For two million year atoms travelled
To bring her poetry to life
While just in three torrid semesters
It no longer mattered a dime

-K.G.