The Dry Pot

It was not the words she recited

Or the lips she seldom puckered

It was her, she was the poem.

My poem!

Amidst the commotion of negativities

Of people who wouldn't bother

To pluck the flower off the pot

The only flower, whom I loved.

I wished she'd say the same about me,

About us, about our lives, but

She talked of a problem-
Inextricable and impotent

And made my heart swirl-
That I was also a girl.

But I'll live and love and fear not

With her shy memories and a dry pot.

Dikshant Chauhan

Dikshant, 20, Rajasthani. Currently in 3rd year, IITB. Into poetry since 14. Some of his favorite ones are 'To Artina' by Langston Hughes and 'Chocolate Cake' by Michael Rosen.