The pristine, white monument,
Stood tall and graceful.
I looked up at it in awe,
And was amazed with every step.
.
As I went closer,
The intricate carvings,
On the mighty walls
Stole my sight and thoughts.
.
The intricacies did, indeed,
Enhance the beauty,
Of otherwise just a piece of stone,
To a layman’s eye.
.
My thoughts wandered,
To the tiny droplets of blood
And sweat that got sealed
Under the stroke of the brush.
.
The hands that ached,
The minds that thought,
The legs that stood tall,
Till the masterpiece evolved.
.
Isn’t life a beautiful weave,
Of such intricate emotions,
Pain, hardwork and feelings
Which often goes unheard.
.
Our smile and attire,
Our speech and actions
Mask the problems within,
Just like, the stroke of paint.
.
Those intricate carvings,
Taught me the lessons of life,
And to appreciate the external beauty,
Without forgetting the internal pain.
.
With these thoughts lingering,
I took one last look at,
The pristine white monument,
That stood tall and graceful.
.
Pic courtesy Ludomił Sawicki at Unsplash
https://unsplash.com/photos/qGne85gtUDU
Kirti V
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