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Millions of strings fill our space
At the end of each one, a lonely puppet's face
Arms, legs, fingers, mouths and hands
Also attached, a puppet show most grand
The strings are jerked day and night
So the puppets move ceaselessly, to the puppet master's delight
His nimble, slick fingers control with immense skill
So that the puppets think that it is their own will
Which makes them repeat actions robotically
Hand to mouth, drag deeply, oh so constantly
He gives the strings a yank, well-timed
The puppet responds with an action well mimed
Hand to mouth, drag deeply, again and again
He thinks the cigarette is his friend
Although it will kill him in the end
Certainly not something on which he can depend
(Sydney, Australia - 2003)
Alessandra Liverani
Read poems about / on: lonely, friend, night
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