An Ode To A Doll Maker

Once I saw a little girl playing with a dancer doll.     

Her outfit was embroidered with the silk and silver yarn,     

And decorated carefully with gold beads and sequins.

Her scarf was as wavy and transparent as a clear mountain stream.    

Colorful tinsels were braided in her black hair.

Her bow like brow and nectar dripping lips,      

Her slender waste and round sensuous breast,    

Were perhaps an accomplice to its maker's own sensuality. 

O! Doll maker! amazing is your skill to replicate 

The curves and contours of Nature's stunning creations.

The artistic hands of yours take the raw material and 

Set it into the exquisite pieces of your imagination. 

An angel in stone seems to fly at your command. 

A figurine  in porcelain sings the high notes of music. 

A Kathakalli dancer comes alive in swirling motions.  

The spirit of Kachina doll has the essence of spiritual force.

A silent history of Universe is depicted in these still forms. 

Like a writer’s verse your doll is just one of a kind.  

Like a poet and his poems, you and your dolls are 

Solace to each other, united in a single expression of love. 

The maker of the doll and the little girl playing with it,

The poet with its poetry and the mesmerized readers-

All are bound to each other with a creative rhythm  

Beating in their hearts, surging in the play of ever changing     

Ever lasting and ever new beauty of art.   

Writer’ Note: Kathakalli is an ancient and popular dance form of India. 

The above poem is part of a poetry anthology book By 
Frosini Group Of Poets 'Poets Unite World Wide'.

Book Title  'An Ode To Arts'- A Note A Word A Brush 

Savitri

Savitri was just a simple woman raising her family in a foreign soil.

I met her few times as our paths crossed over in course of time.

Her husband's severe heart attack was an ill-fated blow upon her.

Miraculously he survived, but only to breathe in a motion less state.

For fifteen years she shared her room with his silent presence.

Rollers of time kept moving and pressed harshly upon her.

She kept doing all that she had to do for her family’s welfare,

To survive and to keep her family together through rough times.

Savitri went back to school to renew her professional career,

Supported her daughter in her dream to become a doctor,

Helped her boys to become strong and self sufficient,

And watched over her grand kids in time of their need.

In her private hours she sat by her husband's bed to tell him

All about family and of her life's happenings, hoping and praying,

That one-day his brain cells would rejuvenate him to active life.

She endured the suffering of the world in her bosom,

Yet a vast ocean of love flowed from her heart.

From the canvas of her life, time's cruel brush strokes 

Could never wipe away her hopes and compassion.

Poised and confident she stood on rocks of love and devotion. 

Knowing her was like knowing the Savitri of ancient legend*.

Not only she carried that revered name with pride and dignity,

But had all the love, strength and wisdom that it is linked with.

To me she is the new age symbol of what a woman stands for.

What she endures and offers and what she nurtures and creates.

Savita Tyagi

Writer’s Note: * the legend of Savitri is contained in the Epic of Mahabharata. She was an epitome of a virtuous woman who by her spirituality and wits brought her husband back to life from the clutches of Yama- The Lord of death. Sri Aurobindo a contemporary poet, yogi and philosopher has written with new symbols an epic poem in English named Savitri. It has given the ancient story a new profound and spiritual meaning. Savitri is a popular name in India for women.

This poem is also part of a poetry anthology book published by Fabrizio Froshini under the banner of a group called 'Poets Unite World Wide'. The name of the book is 'We are all persons' Why Gender Discrimination.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBOX3NJ/

Happy New Year

The year two thousand sixteen is about to end

The Crescent moon is peaceful like a baby

Unaware of what goes on around-

Unaware of a new year about to start on earth.

It shines and smiles in his own world not knowing

How it's smiling moonbeams reaching down to millions

Create a festive and peaceful evening upon a quiet home

Away from a loud and boisterous New Year's Eve.

In peace, with heart full of love I welcome

The crescent moon and the cycle of another new year.

Wish all my family, friends and readers a happy Two Thousand Seventeen 

With peace and joy.

Flash Thought ll

The world was availed to me

I put my heart and soul in it

Thinking it is mine

It took my heart and soul 

And disappeared.

***************

There is freedom in being alone

Loneliness is a curse upon that freedom 

Like death few will relish it 

To have a partner

Give a bit of your self.

******************

Life is like silent waters

High or low tides of time 

Create waves in ocean

A wise sailer enjoys equally

thrill or tranquility.

Even in failure I feel so relieved!

Yes! The mega task-

Taken few weeks back

Of creating another poetry book

Ended in total disaster!

It's been almost three years

Since I created my first book.

An adventure it was in self publishing!

Not only it was a very satisfying experience,

With the cost so reasonable, I was thrilled

To gift my first book to family and friends.

It was a milestone achieved in my poetic journey,

Which to this day still continues,

Albeit with bumps and glitches.

The fun of learning and 

taking up a new challenge 

Is what I thought I could do again.

Specially since blocked inspiration and

Lost creativity is what has been plaguing me.

Not writing any thing has been like 

Not visiting my inner most chambers. 

Like missing a special friend

Who refuses to meet me again.

Holding and displaying another one 

Of my own book, while waiting

For the muse to bestow her grace,

Made the idea so very appealing,

That I didn't mind the hard work

Of doing it with out a guided software.

I was even pleasantly surprised to discover

The level of concentration that kept me going.

Many weeks of reading instructions,

Learning the forgotten use of margins,

Gutters, and indentations, 

Editing and formatting old poems and

Copying and pasting to create a PDF file,

All kept me so involved

That even the crisp, bright sunshine

Of gorgeous November weather

Couldn't snatch me away from computer.

Finally the book was submitted for auto review.

But the appearance was not to my satisfaction.

There were issues needed to be resolved.

Auto formatting was a miss match for content.

Correcting mistakes created even a bigger mess.

The whole project now looks a total disaster!

Tired and weary I realized 

That if I want a new book 

Either I have to take some help

Or start all over again.

Which ever route I take, for time being

My book project is on the hold! For now

I am relishing this feeling of liberation!

A weight lifted from my shoulders!

Even failure has its own rewards!

It brought me back at my writing again!