A potter's smile

As the wheel rotates b'neath his hands
he creates pottery out of land
it spins with shapes of beautiful kind
that formed apart in his mind

cups n bowls n glasses n pots
he turns around the earthen clods
transforms them into his sweat and blood
his hands caked with sodden mud

burnt brown and fingernails black
those hands go on,they never slack
build wares and burn them in the kiln
and paint on them colourful skin

but of all the pottery made in while
the beauty lies in his pleasured smile
enchanting how hard he works to live
still manages that satisfaction puckering his lips

and we who buy those crafted piece
pay less to b happy but more to please
and lest it crumbles and breaks on the floor
we couldnt care less of the love it holds

of the sweat and the blood of those burnt brown hands
those created figures out of sodden lands
amidst the bowls and craftsmanship
we bought a smile from his lips