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"Cross-Cultural Communications Art & Poetry Series Broadside"

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The Potter

 

 

When he gave it to me

My image in porcelain,

He was a blind potter.

He touched my figure

Inch by inch

He illustrated

He realised the impossible

I

 

I travelled to China to find him again

On the way I was broken into two

One part, feet with stomach and so

The other, head and so

 

Mountains and cities

I crossed

Finding him was my hope

Once again

I hoped

 

In a field in sepia colour

He was next to me

 

“You died, my image

However, I shall bring you back

To celebrate being alive again"

 

“Praise the breath you take”

He said and spat

On my divided, he spat

The two halves he put together

 

 

The master potter

Gave me another chance

 

I am careful now.

 

 

--Nabil Naoum