Works of Art: English poem by Zaynab Khurshid

There are some things,
Precisely works of art,
That are so foreign,
Yet they remind one,
Of all the things,
They’ve ever been familiar with,
From something as insignificant,
As that of the colour of the sky,
On some summer evening,
To things as significant,
As that of a loved one,
Embracing you for the last time.

There are somethings,
Precisely works of art,
Created by mere mortals,
Yet the essence and the,
Existence of the muse,
Lives on like a legacy,
For centuries to come,
It lives not only within,
The soul of the artist,
But within pieces,
Of other mortals,
Who feel affiliated,
With the muse of art.

There are somethings,
Precisely works of art,
That intrigue me,
With their mere existence,
And I ponder,
In moments of,
Significance,
And insignificance,
The power they withhold,
Being a muse of art,
Yet a muse of memories,
A muse of longings,
A muse of remembrance,
For the mortals that walk by,
For centuries before,
And centuries to come,
Almost as if,
A mere mortal,
Created something with the,
Capacity,
To out live,
Most of the world’s,
Mortality.