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


