A Pitcher Full Of Gold
I started digging soil with pickaxe of the strongest iron,
loose chunks of mud flew haphazardly,
coagulated sand broke into diffused cakes of brown earth,
snail worms and ant ran for safe enclosures,
the ground was bruised with unrelenting strokes of sharp blade,
interior recesses of land were wet in moisture,
sandwiched layers of soil wept at the invasion,
hot geysers of liquid erupted at great depths from the surface,
as rain showers of sweat ran down my flesh,
after perspiring hours of grueling excavating work.
mammoth intervals of clock time passed by,
the sun peeped at dawn every fresh day,
my palms developed cracks with bleeding pores of skin,
stubby filaments of beard transformed into platelets of wild hair,
rich cotton clothing resembled threadbare rags of a beggar,
eyeballs were transfixed down for infinite intervals of time,
i was severely exhausted,
reserve energies of my body were sapping down,
all of a sudden my axe struck metal,
there followed a ear splitting collision,
shards of gold flew alongwith bits of clay pottery,
my face lit up with glee,
my body was enveloped with waves of jubilation,
i knew i was going to relish luxury meals,
live in silver palaces for a while,
as the century old assemblage of buried yellow coins,
kept cascading through the small aperture made by my
plaintive pickaxe.
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