This Clay Pot Poem by Katusiime Jeresi

Aged coins, older sighs
yesterdays lane I walk not
winsome smile, brisk pace.


Diet not, four two
buying height in shoe stores.
sun kissed, curled Kagarama hair

But inside that
a soul is peaceful in the ebony
once upon a time
incarcerated in agony,
but now twirling to the tune
of life's harmony.
Taking tools out of the storage room
mending cracks and daring to stand bold
for my soul, fire cant scald
and the potter sent me as a finished pot,
not broken clay pieces.