The Stone Makers
Image by Untitled blue
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Because of my eager eyes…I was rejected from Heaven! I wished I was blind unable to judge beauty, except I was just an artist enjoying liberally a living masterpiece.
Looking, touching, feeling it; when the owner of the museum started to scream friendly: “It’s not allowed to touch”.
I kept smiling from the inside: “I’m an artist; I wouldn’t ruin a piece of art”. I just needed to be injected by its fragrance.
My heedlessness pushed the old man to loud his voice: “If you want to touch it, you have to buy it”.
I went so irritated, I wished it was smaller so I can steal it and run away. But it was big enough to erase my stupid idea, just by accepting its reality.
By the time I was getting blown by hating it for being so big, it was asking me somehow if I can return to be a stone, so they can expose me next to it, and then people would come and benefit from our beauty together. I turned my back laughing:
“Why should I be a stone, while men are the stone makers?! Why should I kill my senses and be a stone While feelings still lives in me?! Would it be the nothing? Or would I feel the stillness and serenity just as if I’m the stone’s father?
…Maybe.
But what’s the point? Where is my ambition?
The stone said: “Being a model is like being the crimson idol that you have always wished to be.
sooner your body will die and you’ll be barred away from eyes, away in the darkness, while people keep on searching for stones left by old civilizations, and since it incomes a lot for them, they put it under spotlights and they even buy an insurance for its everlasting life”.
Ub.
