Life On A String Poem by Neera Lollbeeharry

You tied that string around my neck.
And I became your thing.
A slave, a toy, without a soul-
A rope-pulled, puppet piece.


That day you came to deal and buy,
I was displayed for sale.
You checked, surveyed, and satisfied,
You sealed the gainful bid.


I was furbished for rendition
With festoons, gloss and shroud,
And wrapped in fancy draperies,
To fit meddlesome eyes.


In an array of trumpet call,
I was dispatched on leash,
And I became your possession,
A dummy, on a scene.


Since then, my life hangs on a string.
Subservience is my fate.
A juggling life of toss and catch,
Is all I can await.