The pristine, white monument,

Stood tall and graceful.

I looked up at it in awe,

And was amazed with every step.

.

As I went closer,

The intricate carvings,

On the mighty walls

Stole my sight and thoughts.

.

The intricacies did, indeed,

Enhance the beauty,

Of otherwise just a piece of stone,

To a layman’s eye.

.

My thoughts wandered,

To the tiny droplets of blood

And sweat that got sealed

Under the stroke of the brush.

.

The hands that ached,

The minds that thought,

The legs that stood tall,

Till the masterpiece evolved.

.

Isn’t life a beautiful weave,

Of such intricate emotions,

Pain, hardwork and feelings

Which often goes unheard.

.

Our smile and attire,

Our speech and actions

Mask the problems within,

Just like, the stroke of paint.

.

Those intricate carvings,

Taught me the lessons of life,

And to appreciate the external beauty,

Without forgetting the internal pain.

.

With these thoughts lingering,

I took one last look at,

The pristine white monument,

That stood tall and graceful.

.

Pic courtesy Ludomił Sawicki at Unsplash