Come Puppet Master...Let us Play

Perplexed in this ancient game,
worn out strings, broken,
the puppeteer ponders the game...

Her heart like an enigma
a black queen
poisonous embracing
then like a child
she curls back into her space...

Coyly she took the strings
herself , tied them to her soul...

Laughing he wondered,
ego exploding
how I have captured her!

Amazed, astonished he watched her dance
artistically, entwining , capturing,
captivated after her performance

Suddenly he found himself
at her doorstep

lured from his sanctuary
she pulled him to this limbo

With compassion and rage
just as she had bound those strings
she tore them out...


He longs to dry those tear less eyes
painful yet dark
caught in this hell now
he only hears her footsteps now
walking away...

Those broken strings billowing,
possessed by their tale,
dance in this stagnant hell
tormenting...

In the dark, walking alone
crying silently behind those dark eyes
she listens to the cruelty of his silence.

He does not try to stop her.
Nandi

(A continuation/reply to Puppet Master Sometimes happiness is in the game, not the ending)

Hate to Ashes ...wounded...Love to dust

Thumping,thump thump
roaring rushing
two hearts pounded,
The stillness filled with
the heartbeats...

Silently he approaches
whispering to each his own,
inevitable, guaranteed, with sadness
he ponders their game.

Frightened, tormented, eyes seek the other
Louder than the missiles exploding,
Thumping thumping
They find each other.


Without thought, weapons are raised,
You are the enemy
There is a pause
time takes a breath,

thumping thumping thump thump

Their eyes lock,
each just as startled
at the fragility of this body,
Unanswered questions,
saturate the bloodied air.

Patiently he watches them, pondering this
ancient game...

At the point of entry,
That crimson explosion,
The silence without the beat,
And yet those eyes stare
The oceans that separated their worlds,
diminished.

Hands covered in the blood soaked dust
raised in prayer
Different cultures,poisoned never bridged
brothers shot.
Looking into the endless pits of those eyes
Seeing the grief, for that now fatherless child,
Seeing the pain of leaving unexpectedly
But unbearable in those eyes was the grief
For realizing that the death was worthless,

Why did you kill me?
Why did I kill you?
Oh god, forgive me.
Forgive me brother,
And in the dust these yes kept their eternal stare
Staring at nothing,
yet sorrowed with the insight of the world,
At entry into the abyss of death,
Two souls separated by cultures,
divided by centuries,
Dissolved into one,
Reflected in the eyes

He stands over them now,
impartial waiting
thump thump thump th...
as abruptly as it had began
it ended.

Nandi

Duality and the Battle Within

Standing in the doorway of death
There stood a mirror that reflected
the intensity of her thought,
onto which side of the mirror she stood
was the question that tore at her soul.
Did it reflect
the feelings of a passion interred or
the reality of her existence blurred.

In this mirror,

Absorbing and reflecting the constrains of duality,
To lose the temporal sight of birth,
slicing by the mirror,
and then to see through the mirror
The destruction of the ego,
Yet feral desire exists within,
shadows , obscures.

The bonds re-form,

The mirror divides
when Time's loop is ignored,
dissolving in tune
as time unites with space,
a liar in its true form,
reflecting day to this soul
while absorbing and slowly leaking,
spitting night to the other.

From the light that can only exist in darkness,

In belief and in doubt all that is
structured will collapse,
what then will you admit?
It did exist, nay fool! what do you see?
There is nothing here anymore,
Time has played his cruel trick on you.

Sighing,

And what did exist? That fleeting specter
blazed straight across for the moment
captured and formed, forgotten
and then formed again with exaggeration
or the image , false exaggerated in its birth,
but does not change,
what then is true?

It keeps on turning,

In the doorway of death
trapped in a corridor between two worlds
the structures exist and fade,
like smoke, it still fills
as it collapses into nothingness
in front of the mirror,
orbs looking into the orb
neither is true.
Which side is true? Are both form or illusion,
Am I the illusion?

To wonder again, futile, aching,

That which exists in a moment,
temporal passing fading
as truth undone, and then remade
The mirror is turning
She stands in the doorway of death
looking into it.

Nandi
completed? 03-11-08