Seeing is dead


The master sculptor had made tonalities
Stone upon stone, of women in dance
Men in beards, servants removing thorns
From the swollen feet of soft princesses.
Their cloth caps towered over dainty feet.

 Nubile girls danced on slender midriffs
Of black tonalities, ankles high in the air.
A child god’s flute was heard in soft stone.
Gods lived in fading nights of a memory.

The vandal’s seeing is death of immortality
The death of  artifice,  the death of beauty.



(Several sculpted figures can be seen in deliberate disfigurement by history’s vandals on the exquisite temple walls of the Ramappa temple near Warrangal in Andhra Pradesh)



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