The following poem by Shloka Sonawane from Pune, Maharashtra won Ten Thousand Rupees in Wingword Poetry Competition 2026.
A broken vase is broken,
But so is the vase breaker.
But people were too busy
Picking up its pieces
That they forgot to pick up
The shattered soul of the vase breaker.
I never thought
I would be a vase breaker.
Because vase breakers aren't sorry;
Vase breakers don't really care about vases.
Turns out some vase breakers do.
I look down desolately
At the horror of a moment's slip;
And I can't cry,
Because perpetrators haven't got the right.
One may be indifferent to its presence
And the vase will live on; dusty but for years.
It is when you hold it close to heart,
That you risk breaking the vase.
Because attachment does that.
I held the vase close to my heart;
Perhaps too close.
But this poem is not really about vases-
It's really about
Fragile, fearful, trusting hearts
That shatter in a million parts.
It is about a certain vase breaker
Who lost her vase.
It took parts of her with itself.
It is about a vase breaker
Who wishes they had never
Picked up the vase that day
To clean the dust collecting below
It cost the life of a vase.
But the dust collecting-
It would have consumed the vase
And the vase breaker.
But nevermind - YOU broke the vase.
The vase breaker arrives at an acceptance;
Only they could see the collecting dust.
People? They see the shattered bits of the vase,
And the broken vase is broken.
The vase still broke by my hands,
And I own that.
I've made peace with being misunderstood.
After months of self blame
The vase breaker feels okay again.
She treasures the vase in memory,
But she knows now,
She is not just a vase breaker.
She is a keeper. A lover. A fool.
And keepers, lovers and fools
They have something in common-
They hope and they try.