Mr. X is thirsty again
but his pitcher is found brittle
and his wakeful compass still active
in turning its arrow to the beautiful parlor
of his special pitcher
built and kept hidden on the lap
of a nearby handsome hill
tempting him to call at the parlor at once
with a smiling rose in hand
and a tickling passion in his heart too
but his entering the parlor
and traversing each and every corner by turns
to look for the invisible pitcher
add nothing to his thirst and loneliness
and to his longing too to carry the day
enjoying the sweet and soft company of it
to quench his wild thirst up
except a heart-breaking window-view
of a garden and the capricious pitcher-
dancing and quenching the thirst of the trees-
unwanted and prohibited too
and kissing the bunch of flowers
gifted to it by the amused trees in return
scaring to my poor rose
to dry up and shed itself down soon
before it carries coal to Newcastle
and to my thirst to sneak away
to his broken pitcher again to rejuvenate it
before the watchful world
starts mocking at his shameful stupidity.
Source