The Sculptor Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Shapeless stones look warward and ugly
Without any sense of nice feelings
Still silent stones are lifeless really
Use no politeness with others' dealing.

The sculptor like a god conceives a shape
Careful peeling leads him to a form
That is called great artistry's high cape
Though an idol, seems to have feelings warm.

Welldone brave sculptor! , welldone hard hands!
A soulless statue seems to have a soul
How thought concentrates and how it expands
Perfection in likenes from head to sole.

The philosopher is also a sculptor
Who derives an idea from confusion
Of dumb thoughts he becomes a narrator
Dormant feelings awake and become passion.

The musician cuts silence's hard stone
To carve out sweet, alluring symphony
That penetrates to the marrow of bone
Beauty is there in sounds harmony.

O Sculptor look at stone of humanity,
Does there sleep a statue of unity?
Please derive it out with vivid clarity
And hand it over to man in charity.