Unsteadily first revolves the pot maker’s wheel
With tremulous hands, he searches what’s not there.
His fingers reach out for mud and mud for him.
Emptiness forms on both sides of the mud
In the beautiful expanse of his patience,
He endures to retrieve the shape of earth, long forgotten
Amidst, he along with birds chirps
Something like an ancient hymn.
subodh pandey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pot-maker/
