An Invisible Crack

....and when it slipped out of my fingers, it landed on the tiles. A vase from Alexandria, a Pharaoh who smiles. An ancient piece, a modern treasure, my pride from Egypt's culture lingers, with Western ways now side by side. The curator had said, a measure of real value, if applied be without meaning here, to guide the experts in exotic matters. 'Bang' it had fallen, omigod, I fell right with it now to see, examined it and found it odd that undisturbed it seemed to be. The more I turned it to inspect the smallest areas of the vase, to spot the tiniest defect, the more I felt that Oh's and Ah's were applicable in this matter. Perfection had survived the fall where I'd expected it to shatter in thousand pieces, after all, fragility does have its logic. No harm had come to Pharaohs, the smiling of Cleopatra. One last time now I looked so close, discovered that it had so far withstood all ravages of time. But, ever since that fateful day, when nothing broke and nothing cracked, I hesitate, but have to say, that what my eyesight clearly lacked is to discern what I now may reveal: elusive, hidden shame. The figures never smiled the same.