By Maya Green
I once met an artist, a fervent apostate
Who painted so many things
He even painted his own portraits
Some realistic, some just artistic flings
A sad expression of his dire straits
It was then that I realised, that is
No matter how good or realistic it is
An artist’s self-portrait, is not the artist
It’s just his creation, nay only just as it is
One of the many sad expressions, of his
So a portrait is just a creation, it is
And a mere artistic expression, that is
It can never be equated with the artist
Just as we are portraits of the sublime
The divine, beyond the realms of time
Dateline:
8.20 PM
August 15, 2024
Shah Alam, Selangor DE
