The Jug Poem by Ghazala Lari

The Jug

In the heart of the kitchen it stands,

An ordinary steel jug, weathered by time,

With a knob that tells tales of a different time,

Yet its lid remains tight and firm, a faithful companion.

Water flows in and out, a shimmering dance,

Catching the light, sparkling in the sun's embrace,

And at night, under the chandelier's gentle glow,

It holds the promise of refreshment, of stories yet untold.

Pick it up, pour out the drinks, a simple act,

But each drop is a victory, a moment of joy,

As we search in vain for the shop where it was born,

The manufacturing agency lost to memory's veil.

Oh, the day it first entered our home,

A humble jug, unassuming yet steadfast,

It has served us well, a silent witness,

To all the highs and lows of our family's journey.

From table to cabinet, from bedside to party,

It has been a constant presence, a familiar friend,

Through celebrations and sorrowful evenings,

Welcoming guests, bidding farewell to loved ones.

The jug holds our history, our memories,

Each scratch, each dent a mark of our lives,

A faithful servant, a silent guardian,

An epic written in service of the jug.

So here's to the steel jug, a humble monument,

A part and parcel of our lives, our family,

Diligently serving us day and night,

A symbol of endurance, of unity, of love.

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