The malleability of wet clay
a potter's wheel, and a friend's hand
birthed it. Stories etched into it
as dented lines, like wrinkles
formed by River's waves, on stone.
Mud coloured and elegant, it occupied
a prized position, as befits
a handcrafted gift, with grace.
Until it fell,struck by my careless hand
in dignity, stature, and height.
Sorrow, distress, and broken pieces of earth
delicately curved, now fill the room and
Draughts of love, clouds of memories and
bittersweet vapours escape
from the empty vase and
search for a new home.