The Spine Beneath The Skin

By Subhangi Maity

The frame does not boast; the screw does not sing.  

Yet they support everything.  

Wires hum like veins beneath our feet.  

Their pulse is unseen, and their work is quiet.  

They do not clamor for a throne or light,  

But they bear the load, day and night.  

Invisible anchors, quiet and still,  

They hold the shape of human will.  

A statue gleams; a skyline soars.  

But what about the hinges behind the doors?  

Of hands that twist and steel that binds,  

Of whispered strength that progress finds?  

The world applauds what it can see,  

Forgetting the backbone of industry.  

Yet stars need space, and songs need air,  

And dreams are secured with quiet care.  

So, here’s to the silent steel, screw, and wire.  

They are the soul of the stage, the spark in the fire.  

Without the silent, nothing stands.  

They are the builders with calloused hands.  

By Subhangi Maity