// Sculpting the love //


// Captioned //

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My eyes are crumbled papers now.
Sketch in them
all the places you have left
your heart in.
I've dyed my hair white.
Paint it ombre
and just enough blue
to claim the sky.

Sculpt me
from scratch.

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Why do you still carve? Don't you think its out of fashion?
No, it is still a profession.
A dying one, I must say.
Why do you say that?
What is the need? A waste of resources.
Is it?
A man cannot dream in stones. Don't you know how the old adage goes?
The sculptor only smiled.
Thought to himself, we began dreaming in stones, coloring the caves with our sooty fingers,
To the masters of Renaissance and their little details,
Our history itself lies in the ruins of stones,
And in time they remain, until their going away,
Unlike humans who often forget even in their living,
Let alone after death.

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Sculpt me,
In your heart
With every intricate detail,
You have felt,
Which none ever discovered..
Like the way you loved me.
Let me reside there forever,
Where I belong.

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Idols are made of rock and so are steps to the idol,
Difference lies in the endurance of each-
Idol rock is sculpted until it acquires the "ideal" shape,
And the rocks for the step are merely given a finishing touch,
But remember that while one is worshipped, the other is stamped over!

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Her eyes
Gazing me
Is like a feather
Sculpting a stone

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painting on a blank canvas,
where every word is a brushstroke
bringing ideas to life.



sculpting and chiseling away
the excess or unwanted stuff
to reveal the masterpiece
hidden within.

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sculpting a statue on a rock.

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A pebble am I, lost in the seashore,
But transformed as a sculpture now.

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She is busy
sculpting storms
and
drowning gods.

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