In folds of fabric, stories hide,
Vibrant blooms in a pixel’s glide,
From ancient hands to digital light,
A dance of time, both day and night.

Cardboard, wasli, and MDF
Hold whispers of a world bereft,
Where borders blur and arts entwine,
Heritage and code align.

Pixels bloom where brushes fade,
A blend of hands and circuits made,
Through threads of culture, woven deep,
Awakening the souls that sleep.

AI’s hum, a distant song,
Yet heritage remains so strong,
In every stroke, in every line,
The past and future intertwine.

Oh viewer, pause, reflect, and see,
The art that questions what will be,
Across the ages, across the sea,
What is art—what sets us free?