a poem by Mitali Srivastava

I don’t know who brought me here
Here… in this scorching desert
I was sitting here in the middle of thirsty dunes
Waiting… maybe someone would pass by.
Had it been days, months or years
Centuries… is how old I felt like.
Getting deeper and older each minute
Cactus… trying hard to console my mind.
And then I felt it one day
Cracks… slowly and painfully
Making me aware of helplessness
Time… causing decay eventually
Losing hope of holding myself together
Now… that I won’t be of any use
So I closed my eyes and gave up all senses
Maybe… that would help me in the end.
But something’s cannot be controlled
Dreams… especially when there is no hope.
So I dreamt of being picked up
Fingers… trying to judge my pain.
And I felt like I’m being joined
Pieces… which were about to fall out.
But held together by a single thread
Strong… and with a new life
I knew I could hold plenty
Satisfying… the quench of parched throats
Travellers braving the desert
Stop… bless me and be blessed.
Then someone called out loudly
Look! a stitched earthen pot
I immediately opened my eyes
Realizing… that I had been stitched
Knowing that the dream had come true
Ready… for another century to pass by!