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.
2 comments:
i've read all seven poems, and enjoyed them greatly. you have developed muscle as a poet, shruti. your poems grow better all the time.
keep feeling. keep writing.
love you,
m'y
Well written - liked it!
Well in order to post comments you can simply click on this button called 'Blurts!' after every post. Yes, I know Nabina. She's a friend. Thanks for your kind comments.
Rhett
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