I wonder at those skilled hands/
That had sculpted these stones/
Were they as passionate in art/
As the sunrays caressing/
These erotica etched in stones…
I wonder at those nude models/
Whose postures of combine/
Had titillated the chisel to strike/
Immortal play of mortals on stones…
But the sculptors were of human flesh/
Did they combine on lusty beds of moans/
Did they miss their wives back home/
On solitary nights amidst the stones/
Did they go to prostitutes those nights/
After labouring on sex all day on stones…
Or did the gods descend on this earth/
To create the eternal bliss of combine/
In these living sculptures of stones/
Did the Creator marvel at procreation/
Of these passionate lovers on stones…
I stand on the ancient steps of the temple/
The Sun bathes me, His chariot as well/
My soul combines with the open love/
Unabashedly celebrated on stones/
& I feel so naked within myself/
More nude than these unclothed stones…
Hark! I hear the music of laughter/
Of these coquettish sculptures/
Those flaunt their flesh of stones/
They reach out to embrace me/
With arms & legs of living stones…
They are indeed blessed to celebrate/
Eternal love in these eternal stones/
They know not pain, no anger, no hate/
Fated only to love & lust in stones…
I surrender my soul in reverence/
To behold the divine dance of oneness/
In these immortal sculptures in stones…
