She is the muse,from the very dawn of life,
To every  painter that crossed paths with her.
Paleness personified was her eyes,that the painter was drawn to,
Drenched with pity,he painted her with all his skills.
Laurels came his way for his marvelous art.
But long forgotten was the lady with tears longing for help.

She is a muse,yet again
To the cool travelling photographer,
So instant was his urge to pixellite her wrinkled life,
Clicked was her poverty to the generations of the era.
National awards adored his walls for capturing her pity plight,
But long forgotten was the lady with pleading eyes for better life.

She is a muse,now for whom?
To the writer who describes her plight so that the world knows,
Sunken are her eyes,dry her body,
Hunger striken for days;yet padhmabhushans
Find their way to the writers crown;
But long forgotten is the lady in his story who suffers.

She is a muse,for the music now,
The universal language of music depicts her morbid life.
His honey voice trying to relive,
Her conundrums in her unwanted life.
The applauds and trophys make his life,
But long forgotten the lady in his songs who prays for her death evryday!!


This poem “The Muse” is about a the plight of a poverty striken women,malnutritioned,living with lack of lifes comfort.This lady becomes the inspiration for artists of different skills.
The painter,the photographer,the writer and a the singer try to capture her plight in their own way to present it to the world,but it is not an understanding nod or concern from the world that the lady recieves but an applaud for the artist’s skills,while their muse for creating such an incredible art is long forgotten and seen only through their works.She is devoid of the better life in the end forcing her to be morbid unaware of her worth that brought laurels to the artists that crossed her path .


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