THE POT by Jodekss Gloatkenf



Jodekss Gloatkenf


It was one warm morning … a very odd morning when one star

remained still to see the moon off back to its darkly hut.
I was the gypsy with my bag and myself having come from a further land, a stretched village with all goods but one.
Someone knocked the door of the first village searching for salvation lost. I was the knocker.
“Who knocks?” Inquired a voice from indoor. I paused unconsciously, for it was a voice belonging to a skin, haggard. She cannot have salvation I retort in my mind.
I replied, “It is me, a passerby with good motives.”
“What have you sought?” she opened the door and let me in next…
I sat well, looked around her tattered hut, looking for where she could have ‘kempt’ and kept the salvation.
“I sought salvation, which you might not have madam. Thanks for your hospitality. ” I said tiresomely. As I was to exit.
“But wait my son, let me help you.”
She dribbled like an aged slug down the right side of the wall of the hut. There lied one big molded pot with a rotten steel cup crowning her. She opened it, stirred it, drew a cup with the cup, dribbled back for ages to me at the exit.
I took it and I fainted with joy. I slept with joy. I woke hours later.
I said, “this is the salvation, the salvation my land lacks you gave me. A cold water, natural cold water from the molded clay pot.”
She said with caution “never look down on no one no more. There is more to everyone than you can immediately imagine.”

The end.



Jodekss Gloatkenf

© Jodekss Gloatkenf

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7 thoughts on “THE POT by Jodekss Gloatkenf

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