The Apsara and the Stone

—a poem by Lucas Varro

There dwelt a maid of temple grace,
her steps once carved in flight—
she danced no more through time or space,
but waited, veiled in night.

Her fingers poised in curving air,
her gaze cast down in stone—
she yearned for one who once stood there,
but now she danced alone.

He was a guardian hewn of gold,
a sentinel, wise and still,
whose arms had once the heavens held,
yet bound by timeless will.

She loved him through the roots of years,
through lichen, rain, and flame—
whispered songs no soul could hear,
and traced his hidden name.

One dusk beneath the sacred fig,
when even winds lay hushed,
she touched his brow with trembling light—
and into stone she rushed.

Her shadow wove within his form
as petals graced the shrine;
temple walls grew warm with song
no lips would dare define.

They never speak, they never move—
yet stones remember clear
the breath of one apsara,
her presence woven here.

And once each year, when moonlight parts
the gate where lions wait,
they step from walls with silver hearts—
and dance beyond all fate.