Epigraph:

We don't respect what we possess
What we don't possess we respect


Salt is very little,
On the shores it toddles,
Braves the sting of the storm,
And happily come to our doors.

Who cares of its size?
Who thinks of its significance
In our lives on a regular basis?

And in winter,
They welcome us, our blankets,
Gracious and humble.

Last night, my mother
Handed over to me of mine.
It was as cool as ice cream
But when the moon came out
It was the hot kettle
That suffers on smouldering embers

The whole night
I slept with much comfort
That it gave me,
With no aggression, no attitude,
No reluctance, only submissiveness.

Shouldn't I love my blanket,
And be all praise for its
Honest service to me
And mankind?

Here we are lacking
In giving thanks to sources
Of our happiness and joys.
We judge the things
as per their bodies
Not as per sacrifice for us.
We value water
But we don't speak of soaps.

My longing to crown blankets
For their faithful friendship with us.