Friday, 4 February 2011

The Empty Terracotta Jar

The empty terracotta jar,
Not painted: bright, mud-red
with shades of brown.
Oozing shades harden
into a depth of blackness
Containing nothingness.
Little, unseen crack
Not allowing permanency.

The empty terracotta jar
of the mind:
Grey, pulsating, painted
Blood-red with life.
oozing shades lead to
the blackness
of an empty slate.
Little unseen crack
Letting everything out.

Footnote- the title was taken from a phrase that I heard my classmate quote from a book called Bliss, by Peter Carey.


indi said...

WOW. The best part is, I got the second para when I read the first one. And the second one, was so beautifully re-confirming your metaphor. LOVE it.

Susan Deborah said...

Not like the Grecian Urn???

Keats' sister, eh?

Joy always,

shinod said...

I go the end before I reach there and is not fine about writing. but this one is fine for it is a mode of writing that no one else might have.

Sayujya said...

thanks! I guess....