The Doll And A Writer's Verse Poem by Savita Tyagi

Once I saw a little girl playing with the only doll she ever had.
The Doll was made of cloth, and was about eighteen inches tall.
She was dressed in a flared kurta* and churidaar pajama*.
Her small coti* on kurta was embroidered with silk threads
And decorated carefully with sequins, and silver threads.
Her scarf was as transparent as the sky with its blue color.
Her black hair braided with colorful tinsels tied at the end.
While playing the little girl would wrap doll's long braid around her neck,
Giving her a concubine look.
Her bow like brow and round sensuous lips were accomplice to that look.
Perhaps the doll was the expression of its maker's sensuality.
Her body was witness to the slender delicate hands of its maker.
The expression of individual skill and precise attention given to details
Were visible in every inch of that beautiful doll.
Like a writer's verse it was just one of a kind.
Oblivious to her surroundings the little girl would play with the doll.
Her hands twisted in varied gesture to depict the small experiences of little girl's life.
She would fix her scarf to make her look like a bride
Or put a little purse in her hand to make her look ready for shopping.
At night she would lay the doll down close to her
Her hands embracing the girl's little waist or neck
Like a young love entwined under the blue starry sky.
Like a poet and his poem the little girl and the doll were solace to each other
United in a single expression of love.
The maker of doll, the little girl playing with it and the poet with its poetry
Are all bound to each other with the creative imagery residing in their hearts
Surging in the play of beauty and innocence.
Ever lasting, ever new.

Note- Kurta(shirt) churidaar pajama*(pleated pants) Koti(vest)