The clay of our lives

I seem to have an intrinsic fetish for clay products. These are the some of the pictures I took of clayware at Dastakar..

An apostrophe

A convinent wrapper in the dustbin of memory..
Forgotten sighs and a dusty story..
Faded letters..jaded words...
Bitter thorns ..crossed rusty swords..
glitter of nightlights ...
smogs of smokey highlights...
Flashes of mirrors and smoke..
All around the dead fires that stoke...
Hands reaching through the thick fog..
Hands searching for the branch rogue..
Its a long way back..
Its a lone one way track...
Come alone ..go alone..
rest all flesh and bone..
elusive ... games..
petals and stems..
Fall today..fall tomorrow..
the autumn of the days ..and days of sorrow..
This ..this and this ..
empty games of hubris..
A convinient wrapper..an apostrophe..
Lights out and a break..