Her shape was hazy
She looked small & uninviting
The silhouette battled with people’s mind,
They looked for a kid in her.
Oh! She was small,
With hairs slightly lightly grey
And the essence of them matched
slightly with her granny.
She was like that image,
I once saw in my book
Stating the various bone types.
Her hand felt in constant danger
of breaking at the faintest touch
just like the old granny,
with whom she resembles much.
Her face is conical, it is pointy
Her nose is big, her chin pointy,
Her face looked like geometry
I loved her chin though,
and her big eyes,
Her face looked like that owl,
which is smart and shy.
Her body, her bosom, the curves and the legs,
certainly hated the granny she had
they went with the daughter of her neighbour,
who was too little but looked slightly older.
The first time we met,
I kept trying to find,
how someone this small,
had age almost that of mine.
The world is full of contradictions and
Life is full of hope, she said,
Her body boasted no stature
that was told of her mind.
She was the beginning and the end,
of so many gathering she had never even went.
She talked about the world,
About emotions and about relations.
She talked about responsibility,
of heart and of care.
She talked of every single eatery
that the town could serve
and yet never more than
a morsel, could anyone serve her.
She was small, she was bright,
She was cute, had an eyesight,
for people with a game,
for people in enigma
People all around the world
Called her a woman,
I call her nakchadi,
I call her little sister.
She is the star of each show,
She is the sparkle of tough times,
She is the light to the face of
truly talented insight.