The Indulgence of Vain Art (poem)

They say art changes things.
And I wonder.
It merely moves the awakened.
It does not enliven the deaf, less dead men
In the illusion of stirred souls and tender hearts
Hope dances as art
Pretends to be power
Preaches to the converted.

But stones remain stones
in arid deserts of human landscapes
Cactus for cactus
Breathing fire.

The ordinary confuse revenge with justice
Blind to love
Alien to contemplation
They move like balls of energy
Hurtling like fireballs down a greased slope
In ever-increasing momentum
Of incendiary designs.

And I ask:
What can art do but light fumes
And trigger tears
Among the tender of the heart.

Stones do not melt
They await in geological time
As  diamonds and less enchanting rocks
To be extracted or dynamited
To turn marital rings of mushy love
Or to flow as dust.

From where came their stubbornness
Immune to the art
that we cherish with our
Narcisstic goodness.
             -- Madhavan N, 2018