The morning seem happy,the sky gave its bright bloom. Brids chirping and Singing melodiously. Inhaling the fragrance of the evergreen nature. Flowers waving at the eastern direction. And so I arose from my couch to behold the beauty.
Steadily, I went towards my mirror, gazing tirelessly. My image could whisper, have you seen any like me? Was there supposed to be an answer? Maybe Yes.


I was formed by a potter who made me the way he chooses. placing eyes, nose, mouth where he wishes. My image could tell how good he is in moulding as it seemed different from every other.

Casting earth where they are meant to be, rearranging, shifting, remoulding, this he does to make a prefect image. placing you where he decides, could be around milk and honey, or around nuts and crackers. Accepting or rejection wasn't his options to choose.

The potter using his brush made certain designs to tell a difference from the other or else we live in error. washing his brush in water to avoid imperfection, dipping in oil to make glitters. He was sure to make a perfect image so he took his time.

Allowing the paints to take its glory, he allowed elements, water, fire, air to pay their respect. Earth smiled at the potter as he marvelled at such work.

Gazing steadily at the image, the potter was sure of a picture standing motionlessly, the image could direct its gaze at the South waiting for a speech.

Image soon a picture was seen taken by the earth, it was time to do what he got to do. Beaming with smile, earth could tell the picture was a perfect one. Even diamond lay low at his feet, he gloomed like the blossom of the garden.

The potter had other image which were his works. He only decides what he uses, size of brush, the amount of water for his portrait.
Smiling happily, I reached my hands towards the sky blowing a kiss to the thin air, chasing the breeze as it took the flowers to the east and displaying the birds pride, shaking the giant trees, the wind muttered words and pointed at other pictures, they were perfect images of their own kind. The image seem unhappy, feeling the potter wasn't careful enough, he neglected the supposed colour, water, oil, his designs are not sooting.

freeze the potter has no errors, he always have his perspective of colours because he was sure to make a perfect picture.


http://www.patogist.com/2017/02/uniqueness-of-man-by-patogist.html

Wow.... Nice words collection...