Sonnet # 3 (or at the Jaipur Lit Fest)

Art, in reality, can take no prisoners

The quotidian is the only child that survived

At this carnival, we all pretend to be listeners

Gawking at the next big things to have arrived.

Here, there is pliant analysis of critical theory

Impassioned commentary on sub-altern history

The mind has a life of its own, we are told

So let's grapple with issues, not knock them out cold.

Those that craft say it is a primal urge

But you tell me what is natural about aesthetic

Art is art, nature is nature (only one a scourge)

The thought a phantom limb, craving a prosthetic.

Conjuring words that reveal themselves prudential

Only art reminds that it is inconsequential.