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then, the clay pitcher itself filled with amiable feelings says to the small golden urn:
"Oh kalasi (small urn)!
where art thou looking kala..si (like
yesterday)?
Today thou art only
like imitating yesterday!
Thou art no more kala..si (like yesterday)! Where is that kala-kamaniyata (soft loveliness)
on thy cheeks!
The sweet nectar of the lips seems to have gone off! In the absence of akala (intelligence)
the body is lying akeli (alone) artless vikala-si (distressed-like) having a small sakala-si
(countenance).
Oh kalasi!
Where art thou looking kala...si?"
Hearing the sarcastic language from the mouth of the clay pitcher,
seeing himself the object of ridicule, valueless, ignored,
the golden urn
internally burning, writhing, gets filled with revenge!
Silent Soil :: 419
