A claypot,
brittle and empty.
Cold and weary.

For I,
was that claypot.
Brittle and empty,
Cold and weary.

My exanimate body,
quiet like the winter
but piercing like the howling wind.

You picked me up,
and painted me with colours.
Colours,
that represented your love.

Blue for freedom,
Yellow for loyalty,
Brown for humility.
And Red - your love.

You embraced me,
and kissed me,
despite the coldness of my touch.
You painted me with your love.
I,
believed that I was now something.

And..
You dropped me.

From pieces of woodsticks
the tea seller makes a fire
in the night of summer,
people sip tea
as they merrily
talk politics.*

When rises the first star of night
day flickers out in the earthen lamp
shadows dance in the oil's light
finds toil's pause a resting camp.

Wispy smokes fly from the kettle spout
outside the long night awaits day
sip the lips elixir of thirsty mouth
claypot's brew finds anew demons to slay.

Fires fly as fireflies dance around
stars find the earth below glowing hot
words dry empty minds dims sound
eyes crave for escape to dream's cot.

The last cup winds up the day's cash
marks the night skylight in cricket clocks
weary hands beneath a tree throw the ash
time to count gathered amount in the tinbox.

Night then devours light's last post
his feet walk the soil of his years' trail
this lonesome hour he loves the most
when his wishes with the winds to the heavens sail.

I made you.
Your intricacies are my whims
I was the woman bent over a *** on a gas stove,
I put in the pepper before the salt.
I left the stock-fish to boil for softness, I threw in the beef late
to save some of its strength

I had a plan and followed it
to make them smile that taste you
How then did you loose it?
My careful sprinkling of salt
The measured bits and pieces that went to make you.
The fire, the pepper, all of the hotness
Why are you so watery you run off?

I wasn't bent over a claypot when i made you
l didn't pinch for resources nor haunt roadside kiosks
I didn't fan the flames with air from my puffed cheeks
Why do I taste this soot in you? This blandness?

You have allowed a sinking, a sinking to the bottom
A slipping of things that should be awakened
Take the great spoon, stir up the low things
Awaken the pepper, agitate the ginger
Light a new fire and let it boil over.