The Cracked Pot

A colleague forwarded me a mail with an inspiring story. I rewrote the same story as a poem and here it is.

The Cracked Pot (30-6-2000)

A water bearer, old and wise,
With a song on his lips- gentle, nice,
Would come to the stream with the rising sun
And have his fruitful day begun.

Two pots he’d fill, and tie to a pole,
And take to his master’s thirsty soul.
One of the pots had a crack, though small,
So it ne’er arrived full at all.

Two years passed, and there still was this leak,
So the pot, depressed, decided to speak.
“O sir, my sir, I am ashamed and sad,
I am half as good or twice as bad!”

“The other pot, full to the brim,
To your master’s house, right from the stream,
Ne’er would miss a chance to tease-
Sir, I can take no more of these”.

The wise one smiled, and said to the pot,
“Now as we back to my master trot,
Look to your side, and glad you’d feel,
For the flora is a connoisseur’s steal”.

It saw the flowers, and the pot was pleased,
At their gentle dance in a gentle breeze.
But, in the end it still was sad-
“The flowers are good, but still I am bad”.

The water-bearer, old and wise,
Spoke to the pot in the kindest voice-
“Your crack and leak, O pot, my dear,
Had watered the flowers to bloom each year”.