365 Writing Prompts: Michelangelo’s You

Your personal sculptor is carving a person, thing, or event from last month of your life into the glistening marble of immortality. What’s the statue and what makes it so significant?

I’d let my personal sculptor carve a statue of my two kittens ;Raphael and Gabriel, they are special to me they were six months old and were looking more and more handsome every day.

Carving a statue of the two felines would be great, it would be wonderful to do the job when they are sleeping,they look so adorable in their sleep.

The work done in glistening marble would make the statue unbelievable, and it will be significant because I’ll have the statue in front of my house.It will show how beautiful they are and how much they love each other.

nk: https://sabethville.wordpress.com/2014/10/13/365-writing-pr…helangelos-you/

(Patthika) Reader by Tagore Translation by ranu

English: Rabindranath Tagore ,Tamilndu,India

English: Rabindranath Tagore ,Tamilndu,India (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Patthika)  Rabindranath Tagore

The wind blows at troubled speed,

the sky is overcast,

the peacock calls.

I did not work,  did not change,

the day is over, my hair untied___

I read your words.

O my poet tho,

I have never known you,

still your message embeds

a hidden image in my mind.

Your words render cloud and shadow

in a melancholic tune,

that brings tears to my eyes.

My heart yearns to understand you.

When and where you wake,

whose absence distresses you__

who is your beloved!

You are Indra, your wife is Indrani

You have painted a picture of her

with your affection.

O my dear poet ,

although the rhythm beats in my heart

I am lifeless,  a statue

I know not why I feel this way.

The woman is forever beloved

your songs praise her__

without reason your heart is elated.

Even if I had not heard her name,

nor seen her once

there is no loss in that!

If one knows not your sweetheart

one knows her by your song.

O my dear poet,

the spring is far-off

yet the blood dances in my veins.

The one you know appears

in this strange place,

as I stand among these strangers.

Your garland came around my neck.

the flowers wet with rain…

On some rainy evening your beloved’s

braid wrapped round you

the scent like a dream.

And in my heart, past lives converge.

O my poet,

know you not the soft melody

in my arbour of creepers–

You sang a song of sadness

of things that occurred long ago…

Your brooding melody

flowing into a marvel of its own.