Earth

Here in this pot lies soil,
In which all things take birth.
The blind roots curve and coil
White in the sunless earth.
The soil slips over fire.
The great lands crack apart
And lava, pulsing higher,
Springs from earth’s molten heart.

Here in this jar lies clay,
Dried clay, a whitened dust.
The moistened fingers play
To make it what they must.
The earth begins to reel,
Round, round, and near and far,
And on the potter’s wheel
Is born another jar.

Here in this urn lies ash,
Dust uninfused with breath:
Burnt wood, burnt bone, burnt flesh,
The powdered clay of death.
The embers from the pyre
Sink on the rivered earth
And moistened into mire
Wait for a further birth.

Vikram Seth