Earthern Pots

We are all so fragile,
Like earthen pots yet to be burnt in a kiln,
The clay has been shaped, moulded to roundness,
But where, where will they carry the burden of water,
Some will break on the way,
Some will dissolve at the first dip in a stream,
Those who’ll make it home,
The clay would have muddied the water,
The earthen pots will never come to know,
How weak they are,
Thinking it’s the water that’s dirty...