The Puppet

Little strings attached to her lovely body,

A string pulled and her left hand moved,

Another string pulled and her heads turned up,

And another string which worked with her legs,

The strings were pulled to make her hands join together,

To form a namaste,

A smile was brought to her face,

But head not too upright,

To make her look as humble as she can be,

And of service to the whims of the people around her,

The strings were pulled in such a fashion,

That her head were placed low,

Reminding her that she can smile,

She can talk,

She can walk around,

But she cannot be her own person.

Because she is the puppet,

The prop in the hands of the greatest showman!

The man whose face nobody saw,

But his talents were visible,

From the way he handled his puppets.

He would say, she is one of his valuable one,

But still he couldnt relieve her of the strings,

The strings meant she stayed loyal to him,

The strings..oh the strings,

That was what paid her to still be well kept,

There are days when she had to be on the spotlight,

But then she could rest in a nice shelf,

Wooden..maybe smelled old ,

But still she didnt end up in the dumps!

She was still precious and in the shelf,

Not so precious to be relieved of her strings ,

But precious enough to be kept well,

So she could entertain a few crowd,

A little money made with her face,

And yet not by her talent,

But the talent of the hands pulling her strings.

Because she is puppet,

The puppet in the hands of the greatest showman.

And sure he knew what is best for her,

Or so she thought,

Everytime he pulled her strings!