Pots and platters whir about
Spun by weathered, bony hands
Rows of cunning patterns tout
Points unseen on tightened bands
Dreamy castles fill with light
Fire and soot then meld the mass
Long forgotten textures fight
Tamed by earth's unleashed morass
Thick and green the clay soon yields
While an ancient chord commands
Soul's vibrations sun baked fields
Music formed by unsung hands
Potter stands in silence now
Armed with subterranean key
As the mossy door swings slow
Waiting eyes will surely see
Faces peek from covered earth
Clay stained hands now upward turn
Without effort wide their girth
Crawling forth from earthly urn
Touching faces watch the burn
Dank as darkness hugs all pots
Timeless shadows linger turn
Smoke and fire cast their lots
When the hyacinth morning breaks
Rows of clay are fired pots
Golden yellow azure lakes
Pristine goblets twisted knots
Weathered hands weak gentle now
Skyward facing morning light
Eyes delight as rainbows bow
Sooty shadows hint of night
Like Narcissus and as cruel
Mother Earth takes back its child
Punishing the tampered jewel
Of the potter much beguiled
Pots and faces are now one
Melded mended welded mass
Crying out in sacred drone
Potter drink that final glass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who or what inspired this piece I wonder? I'm intrigued?