TERRACOTTA

a poem by P.K.N. Panicker, India

It was in a fancy market
in an artist’s enclave
that I saw her,
a damsel par excellence,
charming face,
finely chiselled curves,
envy of every other woman,
to touch and feel
smooth and soft contours,
cynosure to every eye
that beheld.

Where from she came
I knew not;
perhaps from within
some rose bud
or from among the petals
of the lily; enticing,
dipped in the silken white
of the full-moon day
or may be, fallen down
from some celestial body,
the abode of angels.

She,
her every muscle throbbing life,
radiated energy,
that crept into the nerves
of every onlooker,
perhaps reminiscing
the feel of his hands
all over her rounded curves.

With a blush on her lips,
the borders of a veiled sari
on her well defined cleavage,
her eyes
with that come-hither mischief,
the sheen on her skin
a pale reddish brown,
the aroma of burnt incense
or may be, of burnt earth……

Someone from behind said,
“Wow! What an exquisite piece
of terracotta!”

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