Click.
Thump.
The whir of the wheel.
She throws
for mere delight
Wets her hands
because her father tells her to
Plows and anchors
blinded by hate
Hands hugging, she glides
to puff up the ego
Decisively makes a hole
for the sake of drawing smiles
Pulling up
to encourage the weak
Smoothens
to honour her Maker
Shapes and carves
just for the sake of it
The clay complies
until it is bone dry
The Furnace beckons
she enters the flames
only that which is tested
remains.
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