Why artists go crazy and cut off body parts

For moment after moment

While she lay on that place

He tried to assess how

The light fell on her face

He was studying the measures

Of depth, space and layer

And how they would match

The colours of her hair

During this process

of waiting, in progression,

The elegant lady

tried many an expression

Seriously arrogant

then wickedly furious

Impish and naughty

Then somehow mysterious

After some hours

Of playing with her chin

He decided to paint her

With her evil grin

He stroked and he dabbed

With oils and dyes

And painstakingly the painting

Materialized

The painting brimmed

With subtle lovely motif

He himself was surprised

And stared with disbelief

It had an oyster

Of mother of pearl

She lay inside it

This essence of a girl

She was a reincarnation

Of the Goddess Isis

Barely attired

And left to her own devices

Her beauty was captured

And frozen sublime

No matter the relentless

Passage of time

Those pale features drawn

So delicate to the eye

Long thin fingers

Placed on a quivering thigh

They came from far and wide

To the most talked about party

Van Gogh, Self Portrait with a bandaged ear

The glittering names

Of the French Literati

Everyone was anxious to see

The art most awaited

After a scrupulous year

The Master had painted

And in the midst of the multitude

Stood the elegant lady

The crowd wasn’t interesting

To her, just maybe

Indifferent she stood

To the gasping and the awe

Nothing extraordinary in

The painting she saw

So they had to ask her

Don’t you like what you see?

She said “This isn’t quite frankly

A good one of me”

So he simply went home

He laughed at his career

And grabbed the closest knife

And cut off his ear