Poop (A Poem About Art)

by Sadig Gasim Mukhayer

They all stood around, not one making a sound
See the critics were taken a back by mere the sight of it
It was weighed pound for pound, created to astound All the critics felt confused by the sight of… Shit

Whispers started forming, Some rejoiced some were mourning
Critics we discussing, arguing, fussing, what had they come to see
Whispers turned to chanting, some revolting, some understanding
The critics form two facts, taken aback, they react to the artistic catastrophe

“Our eyes they havent seen, they havent been in the presence of such great an essence”
Said the first faction that was present on the given day
“Our eyes they haven’t seen, they haven’t been in the presence of such great excrement”
Said the second, that felt the rest had gone astray

“This represents, how our culture is malformed, it truly speaks the truth”
The first said, feeling justified to speak.
“This represents what we resent, malformed cultures, that is why it speaks to you”
The second said, feeling their counter parts are weak

“This is nothing but a pile, of the defiled name of art, nothing more nothing less”
The second faction said enraged by the stench
“This pile is human waste, a wasted human torn appart, I see not how you’re unimpressed”
The first faction, refusing to take to the bench

The argument continued, the factions they got into, details that I can’t elaborate
But the truth to me remains, that art is, anger, joy and pain.
So the argument to me is, a fruit eaten that’s seedless, giving excrement that fails to procreate.
So if the pile of manure, had seeds then be sure, from that piece of art you’ll gain.

This was a poem about Poop (about art)