Five hundred yeas after
What can we say of a woman
Whose depiction
Became more famous than she
Herself had been?
The enigmatic smile, the hands,
The penetrating glance that
Plunges us in dismay.
That’s what we know of her.
But let us, friends, imagine,
The famous Joconda’s different mood.
Let’s wind, at last, would blow up her hair,
Let’s flowers smell, the merry songs of birds
Let’s sound. Let’s her pay attention to
Something else and stop
Disturbing us with her eccentric stare…