THE BLIND GIRL

She was blind, that she thought he loved her deeply

She was too blind about her own creativity’s value

She was blind when he stealthily stole all her creativity

She was blind he became famous for selling her work

Her friend, in anguish, cried for her, lamenting loud

Why you allowed yourself to be so deadly exploited

She, the blind girl said, I knew very well his motives

I am happy that the world had just enjoyed my work

From time immemorial until the present day

stealing the art, the hard work of many, is still on

The world many times, is crowning the wrong ones

While the real creator remains deep buried unknown.

It matters little who holds the pen to write verses

Or who holds the brush to paint the canvas bright

The certificates the artist seeks have no value at all

The true value of Art is an appreciation of the world