A Spirit Forgotten

by Venkat


A dough of clay
And potters our own

In shaping ourselves
We are deformed
Heavier at one end
Narrower at the neck
Uneven in thoughts
Until our bellies bloat
With self satisfaction
And become permanent
In heats of self-interest

We are living clay pots
Shaped in certain ways
Misshaped across
A neck of length long
Making our purpose
Take longer to pass
To forget our spirit
To quench the thirst
Of others

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