Porcelain

By Pooja Pasricha

A doll,

a porcelain doll.

Delicate and fragile.

A decorative to flaunt.

A curio on a mantle.

With a master,

to do his bidding.

Sit, stand,

dance, speak,

laugh, cry,

die.

Broken,

and smashed.

And then put together,

with gentle care and finesse.

The cracks like scars remain.

The master calls it love.

By Pooja Pasricha