Gourachandra Poem by Paramananda Mahanta

Gourachandra:
Afulcrum in the potter wheel

He is the wheelman he is the soil man,
Makes pots of clay with his golden hands.
He is mud stated throughout his hide,
As it coats him to quote his pride.

His hair is white and his lips are black,
A molded figure of soil and soul so stark.
His eyes are red for the beating of the sand,
He sweats his tears to dry his gland.

He twins his eyes for his art and act,
For men like him, God is praised at heart.
His body is crusted like the earth of grit,
With two crafty hands of the mud smith.

He has a big family to render his tail,
They will expand his art as his arteries spell.
Divinity in him smiles in his face,
He has pride in his love and grace.

Copyright 2020
Paramananda Mahanta
All rights reserved