The Marionettist
By Joshua Chong
There was a time when you pulled the strings
The marionette’s limbs manipulated at your whim
Dangling, drooping, draping,
While you danced your days away
Way up in your palace of gold glass
How did it feel?
To be the master of our fates
There was no debate that you ruled the state
Filled with hate, in every move that you make
In every demand that you dictate
How did it feel?
To be so bold
With a flick of a wrist we did what was told
For if we resist we felt the wrath of your hold
A twist of your fist you unleashed uncontrolled
How did it feel?
To sew stitches on our lips
Every squeak, sigh, sound, you would eclipse
Buttons for our eyes, nails for our hips
And a cloth to cover your dubious partnerships
How did it feel?
To tear us to shreds
Unthreading every single thread
Ripping the cotton out of our heads
A fate that felt like scalding lead
How does it feel?
Now that the strings are cut and we are free
Like the wind glazing over the open blue sea
And now we dance over your grave with glee
Your grave beneath the tembusu tree
