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.”