Monalisa, Her Ancestral Rags and a Paradox

Generations perished
Generations came along
This one they say still will go on.

Mystery behind the rosy lips of Monalisa
Is it Davinci's paradox
Is it my mediocrity
Is it my untamed artist in me,
She tends to be the same under all clouds
Every time witness I the same smile.

Oh! where is the mystery and what is the mystery
Tell me could anyone around
How is it different
Different from this angle to that angle?

I am ignorant
Layman laid all his brains flattened
Under the million dubious feet of the errant critics.

I opine what I am taught to read
Beneath the mixture of colours brushed over the contracted canvas
What sense does it put through to debate on
What emotions and moods flutter through thee,
She tends to be the same under all clouds
Every time witness I the same smile.

Is it
Because it is The Davinci
The creator from the summit of creativity
A mystery sustains.

Lest,
There stands in her ancestral rags
Clinging on to her dusty dark skin
Inartistically designed
Yet fashionably presented for the besieged ramp,
A trillion dollar mysterious smile
behind the rosy lips of that anonymity,
Is the fun of riches
Is the gift of our democratic lineage.
She stands still
Beaten by the deceived unfaithful dreams
Beaten by the ungrateful blessings of Gods and Goddesses,
Still with a smile
A mysterious but not one on the contracted canvas.

Yes. A paradox
One on the centuries old contracted canvas
Other on the unknown amongst you and me in the mass.

My mother, your sister, her niece
She stands there
Gazing into the tunnel of vividness
Blinded for a while for centuries for hope
Sucked to the last drops of her restless veins
stretched her arms both
Still soothing
With a mysterious smile.
Woman thy name is not news to me
I am helpless
What a monster and an impotent I am
I am born to you
Why then I still say
I am what I am.

I am, he is, we are and they are
Flocks, flocks, flocks
One, two, three and hundred and one.

Journey doesn't adjourn out of persperation
From this end to that end
From canvas to one in the mass.

When would we break the jinx
Let ourselves boot the paradox of smiles,
Monalisa open herself up
Say then,
Enough is enough
Put me down on the floor
I am tired all these days hung on to the wall.

Davinci would run away
Having blurred her rosy lips locked up
In a mystery for all these days.

A paraodx lost.
A smile lost.
A thousand generations lost.

My untired mother
I am a while tired
Could you take me in your arms
Lay me on your laps
Let me take the last nap
Miles to go before dear,
Hug me hard I have a meeting in the Hell
Bless me I come back alive
With
Monalisa
Davinci
And a mysterious smile,
And a palanquin on the shoulders of His messengers.

In His presence
The judgemnt of the smiles
The judgement of her ancestral rags.