By Sreenidhi Santhanam
The sculptor chisels, stone by stone.
Aims for a masterpiece of his own.
Each stroke precise, each line defined.
He seeks perfection, leaving flaws behind.
The hammer strikes, the chisels fly,
Frustration mounts, he lets out a sigh.
He works day and night, giving all it takes.
Blinded with perfection, little progress he makes.
His passion wanes, replaced by fear,
He stares at the stone, the outcome unclear.
The form misshapen, a complete failure,
Hope dwindles, a feeling of despair.
The sculptor then pauses, releasing his grip.
Letting the dust settle and the hammer slip.
Suddenly, a veil lifts in his mind,
A voice whispers, Let go, my friend.
His spirit soars, his burden released,
The ghost of perfection, at last deceased.
In the embrace of what he couldn't change,
He witnesses a hidden gem emerge.
No longer burdened by the sculptor's hand,
The master piece was a sight to command.
He hadn’t realised that in his own pursuit,
The hidden beauty that emerged, was in itself perfect