Everything always is

Perfect in absentia

For no one can fault it

But in full view

Of every spectator

The inner artist

Transforms into a critic

And the plebeian admirer

Into a judgmental fascist

And the erstwhile flawlessness

Suddenly seems blasphemous

So then

Where is perfection

In anything and everything

You ask all the –ists

Say the pessimists

It doesn’t exist

Say the optimists

One day I’ll find it

Say the opportunists

Why should I want it?

Say the scientists

It is too ideal a state

Say the socialists

It’s a long road ahead

Say the realists

Waste no time

Striving for it

Yet everyone always is

In pursuit of perfection

And perfection

It is elusive…

Can it bring happiness?

No-one knows

What about poets

Like me? Like you?

Perfection we feel

Does exist

In the eyes

Of the beholder

Perfection persists

In every single act

And every single object

Where there is a flavor

Of effort and endeavor

To do the best

To be the best

And have the best

Then it’s an instance

Of pure perfection

For you can see

Within its depth

And know

Within your heart

Perfection indeed

Does exist

But the inner critic

Of all the -ists

Fail to ever discover it

We you and I

Are not –ists

Fortunately

Just commoners

May be that’s why

Objectively and subjectively

And also in the mirror

You and I can see

Perfection wherever

And whenever

We want it to be

– Akanksha Gupta