As I was walking by the sculptures
of marbles,
Depicting various traces of pain and
joy, intriguing me and I asked
“What made that artist's expression
so engrossing?
Above the brow and the lips and so,
Solitary eyes and the gaze it threw.
Beyond its rippling tresses,
The shadow of lingering past that it
held.
And beneath the skin deep beauty,
The sense of seething pain
extending,
What holds those mortal spectators
to the everlasting stare entranced?”
And then someone from the mute
spectators answered,
"Oh mercy! The pain that was
there.
The fleeting existence of pure
agony,
The evanescent smouldering, the
volatile sigh.
It caused a flutter in any human
heart,
The thing of air flung and made them
dart.
And it was it that they drifted to
observe.
There own image that they found and
saw,
Saw the reflection from artist
mirror.
Their refined eyes, the
sophisticated view of life,
They needed more than a flash of
transient message.
And then surfaced the savage child,
The alone, fearing and insecure existence.
It stood there and revealed their
masked life.
Unfolded, betraying their struggle
for a moment,
And it was it that they stood to
fight.”
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