Poem for a Doll Bought in a Russian Bazaar

Me
lam
Royal blue,
Black with soot.

I am the great Moor
(Petruschka's rival).
I use night as my troIka;
The sun is my golden balloon.

Almost as vast as the shadowlands
But as fragile as a living person,
The least puff moves my invertebrate body.

Very knowledgeable, I am very resigned:
Don't mock my skin's darkness nor my gaping lips,
I am, as you are, no more than a puppet held in giant hands.