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)