strings, attached to my wrists,
mindless thoughts spins w/ in me...
colorful appendages, strapped to me,
face paints covers up my sobbing tears...
w/ each pull, i dance, sometime's fall,
but the acting goes on...
my feet too was stringed...
every step is consulted by the puppeteer...
my emotions are snatched....
where did it go? ? ?
my self, theft out by my ventriloquist's ghost,
as a puppet i serve him, unwilingly,
many purpose did he ask of me...
but life takes on, w/ no regressions,
I too, wish that my choice had no regressions...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem