Stranded on marble shores,
where the waves crash and whisper secrets adored.
A sculptor finds himself,
surrounded by rocks that glisten in the sun.
Large and unyielding, like the world he has left behind.

A chisel in his hand is all that remains,
amidst his soul stranded by fate on deserted sands.
Where no sails meet the horizon,
only unyielding marble and the cry of gulls.
A wanderer of creation by fate, he becomes.

🌊

He finds no solace in the world’s offerings—
No bread, no water, no voice to call his own.
But within him, a fire burns,
A love for the craft that transcends hunger,
a passion that defies the solitude of this desolate shore.

Hence in the silence, the chisel strikes,
echoing with each touch of stone.
He shapes the marble with delicate strokes,
each chip, a piece of his soul.
Carving out beauty in a world that offers none,
The ecstasy of creation fills the air,
As the waves dance to the rhythms of his work.

🤍

And the sea roars its approval,
waves rising high to...