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

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