PAIN OF A BROKEN ARTIFACT

I am the antique artifact

 That was once adorning your rack,

That was once your pride and other’s envy,

 A mute witness of your smiles and sorrows.

One day I tumbled out of your hands,

Crumbled into fragments,

You cuddle me with affection,

My sharp edges pierce into your soft palms,

Then you threw me out of your window.

Laying outside the window,

I see whenever you come into the room,

Your eyes fly towards the vacant rack,

You rotate your fingers on it with much affection

Clouds of sorrow shadows your face,

You stealthily wipe your eyes with your skirt,

Restlessly stroll throughout the room.

It’s true that those days of your care hurt me,

Those moments of your smile haunt me,

Still, I am not worried about my fate,

Soil was my origin; the soil will be my destination,

I am in my deserving place.

But I can’t see your gloomy face,

Do me a favor,

Come outside; dig a pit,

 Bury me in it,

Forget me, be happy and enjoy your life.