The Tribal Puppet-Singer Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The tribal puppet-player used to come, the old guy
And sing the same old song,
With the two shiny wooden puppets
In colourful frocks and with hair combed
Tied to his hand
And wrapped over with a cloth-piece
To hide it on

He used to start,
I had, had,
Had a daughter,
A lovely small daughter
Whom I used to love very much,
I used tobrings things for her
From the bazaar and the fair,
But the day,
The day turned I sad, sad and broken
She went away, went away tothe town
And returned she not
To give joys and delights
To this old, old man,
I had, had,
Had a daughter small and simple...
Hell fell it broken,
Sorrows hinged it on
Wen, when she went away, went away.

But a day came into the life,
The life of the pupper-singer,
The folksy guy
When his wires fell silent
And the puppet-shows
People favoured it not
As new sources of entertainment.