Thus, Stratified…

 Composed by: Ashma Aryal (a.k.a Azm)

Thy father,

a potter,

lived in the valley green;

Made vases,

carved traces,

held ‘em tight together as seen.

Beauty captured,

(In)clay clustered,

Stood proud and tall;

Jealous neighbor,

broke through (the)door,

planned to make it fall.

He took,

off the hook,

with a miser grin on his face;

Smashed it,

into tiny bit(s),

yet took over the case.

Father look!

we shook,

realized he lay there dead;

Speechless,

senseless,

sleeping on his death bed.

Fragile and sad,

surrounded by the bad,

mourning at such grief;

Now we’ve learnt,

it can’t be brought,

together again to stand there stiff.

 © Copyright 2011 Azm