The personified pitcher

I am a flimsy pitcher
Brimmed with water
And empty;
Yet again and again
Hollow and sunken
In the humdrum ride
The same muddy road
And a few drops trip
They fall with the call
Of the gravity
Of the society
Turbulence whirls in me
And yet the serene me
A metaphor of coolness
Empty once again
Filled; yet again
My blackout nights
And topsy-turvy me
Throttling for a breathe
And brimmed again
Along the morning sun
I live in extremities
And idyllic is non existent
That lad had given me a life
With those eyes and painted lips
He filled me like always
With fresh life
And I was yet snatched
And brimmed again…