Sunday, June 11, 2017

A sculptor

Gently strikes his hammer-
And dusts off-
Coughs and clears his throat.
Some pieces of rock!
When his fate itself deludes!
Their fates, he assigns!
Some as angels!
Some as Gods!
Some shall remain as it!
Some shall not!
Beautifully, he crafts-
Each piece that shall be-
That faith to many!
Many shall bow on the knees
And beg for life!
And money!

As he walks through the lanes-
In between the crowds-
Noticed, he barely gets.
In his worn out rugs-
And his charred hands!
Holding an idol!
He sells-
This faith…
To which-

Many shall bow…again!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

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