Were you not inert and dead
an undistinguished lump
of greasy and rough stone
in the dark womb of the earth,
where you lay unseen
through the ages long gone?

Was it Golconda? or, was it Kimberly?
or, could it be the depths of Brazilian forests?
It does not matter though,
this way or that,
you belonged to none
till I carved you out
of the rugged walls
of deadly depths
and gave you this life
to be always sought after
cutting your edges
so that you
with your transparent innocence
may sparkle
in unearthly brilliance.

You are still just as hard
in your soul
as you were
in your primitive being
of pristine nature,
taking in nothing to taint you,
returning ungrudgingly
whatever reflects on you
thousand times over…
you are not partial
to any De beer.

You, now, adorn
the crowns of monarchs
or the ivory clevages
of lovely ladies
in evening gowns,
who flaunt you
to the courting men
in vain glory
of possessing you…
while you in stoic indifference
both to the kings
and to the Madame du Berys,
enthrall all,
whoever cast their eyes on you.

I admire you,
though I, your hewer,
don’t ever dream to afford you
as I know you remain unspoilt
by unending pamperings you get
and that you hardly care
whether you are
in their treasure chest
or in the gutter,
since your value,
irrespective of price,
is intrinsic
and eternal,
your inherent elegance
neither I can give
nor could anyone else.