on Dali...

He stood before the gigantic frames capturing moments of the frenzied painter's artworks...
'How unnerving!'
He thought and looked at the Persistence of Memory
'So liquid...the Time...almost slipping off from the edge of the table and that tree branch leafless...'
He thought and strolled to another...
'My god! Young virgin...so deconstructed?'
He asked the empty hall which echoed back his words in no time;
Then came to view the best of the lot...
At least, he considered it the best,
Though he was always aware he had never been the best of art critics...
Infact he felt belittled by the gigantic works-
Reaching up to the ceiling of the hall...
Spread as wide as a big projector screen...
Jesus on a three dimensional crucifix...hanging light in the void...

He looked and looked...
Till he thought he was just one of the minions
Standing at the feet of the God...

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