An Extra Pot…

By Srishti Satsangi

An extra pot sitting on a shelf,

holding in flowers with dwindling petals,

looking downwards with no sea.

No one takes a look towards the boring side,

only when there's a need, they crawl,

crawl with their own stones and deceiving tears.

Saw them pacing towards it, handful,

vividly examining the whole area around,

it sees no ghostly invisible way.

Eventually, reached their destination,

without feeling remorseful they poured all in.

No excuse, no mitigation,

it concurred with the burning sitch.

Still sitting at the same spot, in the same position, proving its left-over resilience,

taking the weight and strain all on its back.

The excruciating pain, all impalpable,

not even a microscope can make it visible.

From a dark corner, those flowers seem to be gleaming,

How can I stop pondering about this extra pot,

sitting in a singular scene as me?!

By Srishti Satsangi