Sculptor
In chambers lit by candle's glow,
A sculptor stands, with brow alight,
Where visions grand begin to flow,
From marble cold, a form takes flight.
With hammer's tap and chisel's grace,
He breathes life In chambers lit by candle's glow,
A sculptor stands, with brow alight,
Where visions grand begin to flow,
From marble cold, a form takes flight.
With hammer's tap and chisel's grace,
He breathes life into, a human face.
Like Michelangelo, with hands so sure,
He captures form in perfect lines,
A David bold, forever pure,
Or Venus fair, with form divine.
The sculptor's mind, a sacred well,
From which all beauty breaks its shell.
He tames the stone, its roughness fades,
Emerging smooth, a flawless guise,
Emotion etched, into light and shades,
A story told in sculpted sighs.
The mind's a kiln where beauty burns,
A Renaissance, each statue yearns. , a human face.
Like Michelangelo, with hands so sure,
He captures form in perfect lines,
A David bold, forever pure,
Or Venus fair, with form divine.
The sculptor's mind, a sacred well,
From which all beauty breaks its shell.
He tames the stone, its roughness fades,
Emerging smooth, a flawless guise,
Emotion etched, in light and shades,
A story told in sculpted sighs.
The mind's a kiln where beauty burns,
A Renaissance, each statue yearns.
Copyright ©
Dr. Padmashree R P
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