The Sculptor - A Poem

 

 

The Sculptor

A sigh of grief slipped out

As he got the blow;

The Sculptor too was moved

And tears began to flow.

But, tenderness was to be checked

For, the piece He was to create

Would otherwise remain incomplete;

So, he went on, contained and sedate.

Don’t you lament, oh statue !

For, the hard blows you are getting

Are to teach you to endure

And to carve your being.

Pleasing hue to be loved by all

Is the gift of these hardships.

So, try to bear the woe

With a smile on your lips.

- Vanita Thakkar (23.07.1988)

This is one of my old poems, written in school days. I had written this poem when my English class was going on. My friend sitting next to me was anxious that I would get caught. Fortunately, I wrote it without getting caught and both - my friend and I, were happy.

 

© 1988Vanita Thakkar