Nothing less of a scene; a stage is praised,
As the red velvet is raised,
“Do your parts and depart”
Is the command in a voice parched.
Not only by their tounge but also hands,
They represent someone else’s amends
Know only to them and the strings which connect,
Oh! Puppets of their own dialect.
The characters come in their own sequence, Some battle, some rattle and some were of no consequence,
Still had an essence,
Which sent the spectators into reminiscence.
Then with a sudden thud,
The play goes down with no fudge,
The cables falling and the lights flicking,
Alas! Reminds me of our Old Man’s saying.
When the reckoning arrives,
Its not the string that deprives,
But the hands which held you dearly,
That thou danced for so eagerly.
Falling strings bring down upon,
The puppeteer’s will that beckon,
To fulfill its fate,
Or to settle like a scape.
Now it must dance to the lure,
Never heard before,
Not only for the audience upfront,
But also his master’s refund.
-Vaibhav Yadav
About the Poet-
Vaibhav, hailing from India, is a poet and a philosopher.
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