Terracotta Dreams

The virgin drop of heaven’s water,

Upon parched land of my soul,

I was bearing the fissure for long,

Quenched my thirst of inner desires,

My soul is set to be moulded,

On the wheels of the veiled potter,

And be baked and burnt in the,

Fire of his mammoth sized oven,

Where my eyes saw one after other,

He altered myriad beings of passion,

Giving shapes to their dreams,

Putting them into human moulds,

And I loved the essence of my,

Earthen soul burning in the fire,

Of maudlin moods, some glee along,

And taking shape of myriad vessels,

That shall hold prose and verses,

Transforming red, the cracks filled,

With the fire of passion from heaven’s

Resistant on the facade yet,

Fragile from inside, lingering fresh,

Wet and soaked terracotta dreams….


*Monalisa Joshi*


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