My Pot Poem by Krishna Kaipa

The pot in my hand,
Cracked and broken,
Lost and forgotten.

Once filled with water,
Of love and hope,
I hoped that the stones of promise,
Will make the water rise up.

But alas! The stones were thrown,
To make the pot bleed,
And make plants of hate grow.

Then came two hands,
To mend and tend,
Instead threw the pot down,
For it to be lost forvever.

I looked everywhere,
For my broken pot;
To collect and keep it,
For it was a part of me.

My heart, cracked and broken;
Lost and forgotten.