At times the only warmth, colour
Touch, contact, fragrance
Comes from a steaming
Cup of tea.
Hugging it,
Am transported
To the world
Of the potter
Who lovingly gave
It shape with
His warm hands
On the wheel.
Chose a green motif
Of Peepul leaf
To decorate it
And then baked and
Glazed it.
Let go
Of his loving conception
And fabrication.
As I held it,
His passion and warmth
Rubbed off on me.
Now it was mine.
I hadn’t seen him;
Gazing at that piece of earth
Through my misty eyes
I realised.
He was part of me-
There is inter-being.
Mamta Agarwal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/potter-s-wheel/
