Jul 062017

The sculptor

Tania Dey


He, sweats in the dim light

Smokes a cheap bidi-

All the while rubbing his hand

On his lean body.


He ties the strings slowly

Involving every bamboo strip

And gives it the shape of a woman-


He plasters it with love and mud

Both intermingling in bouts

And the lamp grows dimmer by the time

And the memories stronger with every stroke.


He painted her eyes, her lips,

And carved her hair, and sharpened her nose

And then he paused to inspect the resemblance

And then moved to paint some more.


He had made Durga in her image

The image of his dead wife.

And in the nudge of his sculpting tools,

He had brought her to life.


Then he sold her for a 10000.

For sometimes you sell love,

To live.

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