The Sculptor’s Sin

During the heydays of Italian Renaissance,
In the city of Florence,
There lived a Sculptor – Michel Simoni.
Loved he to sculpt his ideas, his dreams, his passion!

Since 3 years long,
He was sculpting an angel!
An angel with the Most Beautiful Eyes!
With the most beautiful Soul!
And a Charming Smile!

It was the ides of March,
In the wee hours of the morn,
Did he put the final stroke of his chisel –
 His dream angel was standing,
With all her glamour and radiance,
Looking directly to his heart!

He was happy,
He was proud!
For he made it possible,
The Divinity descend to the
Land of the mortals!
There was standing with all her glory,
His amorous beautiful angel!

The sculpture was new,
But why he felt that he knew her?
Not for just years few,
But since eternity long!
Then, now and forever!
Yes, he was in love!

But then the king’s men came,
On dark horses, with armor and sword.
Took they the angel,
For it was the deal done – a 3 years contract!

Michel Simoni stood still
Cold as a lifeless statue,
Even tears denied to flow,
For he was parched deep down the heart!

He was in love with his Angel.
Deep and profound,
A primeval deep bond,
Something he had never experienced!
Something so special so divine!
Nothing much could he do,
For his beloved was a lifeless statue.
Indifferent on anything and everything!
For she was just a cold marble,
With no heart to throb, no mind to think!

Stuck on to his indifferent Angel,
Lost he his peace of life,
Always lost was he,
In memories of her
Most Beautiful Eyes,
Her bonhomie Smile!

With every new work he took,
With every new sculpture,
He tried to bring his lost angel
In form, with the same fervor!

Kept he on his search,
For exactly those eyes,
And that Smile,
And that Soul!
In every new work he did,
With every stroke of his chisel!

For life gives to the new,
The archaic perishes for the modern!
Knew Michel Simoni none of these,
Stuck was he in his life!

Years passed by.
Seasons came new.
With new winds from the heavens,
New rainbow decorating the new sky!
The Sun rays were new,
None were the trace of old!
But who could convince
Michel Simoni!
For he was stuck with his Angel –
With the Most Beautiful Eyes!

Now Michel Simoni was old and fragile.
In his late 70s was he.
The silver long hair,
The wrinkled skin,
Were doing their best,
To keep the throbbing heart alive-
All tired of waiting for the past to return!

It was a turbulent night,
Tumultuous Ocean kept shouting of omen.
 Vultures crowded the sky.
Michel Simoni was no more!
Stuck with his Angel in heart,
Did his soul part –
In search of those Beautiful Eyes,
In some new land – stuck in the past – Still!

They poured his ashes
To the flowing stream,
That turbulent and dark night!
The stream patted the back of the ashes,
And asked with concern –
Why dear Michel Simoni,
You still are stuck to the past – the stale!
Past is dead. Life is the present!
Why dear Michel Simoni,
You became that stagnant pond,
With the stale water of the past!

For the Pond is so dead and stale,
That even the humble and lovely Lotus,
Never even touches it,
And accepts its wetness on his soul!

The Stream continued –
Live like me –
Flowing with life to newness ever!
Being pulled by life –
With all its Novelty and Hope!
I keep flowing through eternity,
Never stuck to the past!
There is always that new promise,
The new world, the new shore,
I look forward to!
I have not gone the way of the Pond!
My life is about keeping on the move,
Exploring newer depth,
Creating new meaning!
I am not just a river,
I am a “Rivering”!
I am not a noun,
I am a Verb!

Winnowing in the rhythm of the stream,
Michel Simoni did realize his Sin!
Redeemed was he,
At the altar of the Stream!

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