Monday, July 7, 2008


He chiseled our souls
into graceful figurines.

Some days
He concentrated on that danseuse
Trying hard to capture the moments.
Some times he just sat brooding.

He gave a final look that day
And with a sigh he left.
Later, we heard people whispering
(different people each day)
about a bloody battle
beyond the river.

It was moving
but how would we react.
We waited for him
to chisel some new poses.

One day
there was galloping of horses.
Before the sun went down
We lost our nose rings and the grace.

As the dusk fell
There was much clanking near the river
Swords were cleaned up
in the darkness.

Slowly, weeds grew out of us.
And the river flowed
Carrying itself.

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