Two Glass Jars And A Peeping Plant

By Stephen Deepak

Lugging my pants, behind each step,

A small little hand, pleading to sell.

Two glass jars, housing a plant,

desperate in cry, her poverty case.

Pulling again to get me to budge,

Adamant to sell her ware of glass.

Clear through it, visible her plight,

No greens of life, in her pitiful cry.

At thousand the price, her pitch began,

Giving her all, to soften my mind.

I kept saying No, hastening my pace,

Relentless her bid, to sell the glass kit.

She kept calling me, following my path,

Trying her best, for me to somehow buy.

My denials seemed blunted, she never gave up.

Hurrying with those jars, doubtful tears welled up.

Melted and Moved, I bought those two jars,

Her face lit a'bright, a smile chirped a cheer.

Visible enough, her moistened sourful pain,

What life would spring from her withered dry end?

Was it the price, she wished to sell?

or was she driven by her agonised hell? Between glass jars of green, our lives must chug on.

In losses and gains, penury or pride.

She would be back at dawn, with two glass jars, a peeping plant,

Lugging at someone, to sell, jars they would wish not to buy.

Pitching at thousand and settling for a hundred,

Amidst the paradox of reality, sits ignorantly, the two glass jars and a peeping plant.

By Stephen Deepak