My new big clay pot,
That ever since I bought,
Could hold water, I thought,
For it had a crack not,
Not even a hole tiny as a dot,
So in its task it could fail not,
To hold water for my dry throat,
And for cleaning my messed up coat,
On it I had no doubt,
Which to have considered I ought,
But I was never taught.
For in it I had trust,
At dawn I could see it first,
At dusk I would see it last,
I would not see it when I fast,
It would understand I have no thirst,
Neighbors stared with lust,
Wishing they could pour dust,
Yet knowing that will not be just,
My pot which I trust,
Was preparing for me the worst,
Or was it preparing me for the worst?
I do not know, let me quench my thirst.
Yesterday same as today,
But I filled it just the other day!
My pot has no crack,
Not a hole,
No one fetches my water,
Where did it go?
I trusted my pot with my water,
But it took it all,
It slowly drank of it,
Until it was no more.
Now I have no water,
Nothing to quench my thirst ..
Who will quench this thirsting of my soul