The Puppet Master

There once was a little boy

Who out of boredom designed a toy

A carton shoe-box he turned to a stage

That soon was to become a mortal vivid cage.

The shoe-box he colored and made so pretty

But it was too small- oh what a pity!

He then attached a curtain to the front

And hung ‘My Stage’ a title with a flashy font!

The box looked empty in the dark

So decided he to make a tree with a bark

And for some entertainment an Adam and an Eve

He made out of cloth, some wood and some leaves.

Their limbs he affixed to thin unseen thread

To move around as he wished and freely led.

One day he’d make them laugh and play

And sad and morbid on the second day.

In spring the shoe box sported comedy

In winter it harbored much of tragedy.

Between the two the boy did leisure

For his control was such a treasure.

Time passed by and the boy found his game

A bit too childish, a bit too plain.

So in the final act the puppets he killed

And lay on the floor their ink he spilled.

He was the puppet master with all the power

To move the puppets and above them cower.

And when he decided the play to end

The curtains he pulled down and his puppets…

… To death send!

Jester of the Court

The queen of hearts sat on her throne

Counting the minutes of a tedious day

She huffed and puffed and she did groan

Of all the humdrum that passed her way.

“Call the jester, for I am bored!”

She waved her fan in much frustration.

“I can some mirth and laughter afford

Some clumsy steps and some celebration.”

The handmaiden scurried down the hall

To call for the jester to the marble court.

She found him on the green lawn sprawled

She nudged him up as she at him snort.

The jester hopped his way to the gate

Of the hall that housed the queen

He tried her scowl to quickly escape

For she was looking ever so mean.

“M’lady” he said as he jingled his hat

With the ears and the tail that flopped away

“At your service” he said, jiggling his belly fat

And tinkle he did the bells whichever way.

He strutted his act like a queen of drag

With his hands waving at the herd

His legs he lifted like a slender stag

And from his mouth spilled a blurred word.

The queen of hearts turned ever all red

For she knew it was she he mimicked

The clown has uttered all taboos unsaid

And did surely know what he’s inflicted!

The red lobster woman stood up in rage

And pointed a finger at the licensed fool

“Is this how you try to engage”

“With some insults you boorish ghoul?”

The jester, the jokester the idiot clown

Scurried down the court with his tail

Between his legs, back slumping down

Knowing nothing from this quandary bail!

Shortly the guards of the palace appear

Looking all strong with outfits of metal

They looked cruel with their jutting spears

He knew he would fall into heckle!

They dragged him roughly from the shoulders

Back to the court to face his lady

He stood between two callous soldiers

Trying to face her ever so bravely.

“You idiot,” she bellowed in his face

Smothered all red and a heaving bosom

She then hurled at him a china vase

After tossing the colorful blossom.

The vase hit him in the head

And blood trickled down his cheek

On bent knees he quietly pled

For some mercy from his queen the freak!

Oh, but she was a witch and an old crone

Whose pride has been publicly scarred

And she did!  The jester was from the court thrown

In a cold enclose and from the court barred.

What can one say of the injustice of royalty

Of what they entail on their nation?

When one is showing to his trade loyalty

Is inexplicably thrown to damnation!

The Case of Love, No. 999

A people asked me one day, "What love are you talking about?"
I said, "It is that love, with a tread stronger than the strongest of storms,
And its grip more forceful than the grips of graves,
It knocks and flops on a fragile, perished heart.

The heart says, "Have mercy on me, O my soul is weak like tender flowers.
Oh, and I myself a victim of a feeble heart."

Broken tears fall and pierce with sharp edges the stillness...
of silence...
To scatter morose thoughts that fade in a hateful space.
Two tears drop on a gentle, velvety cheek,
To root pain and grow a wheat sheaf of a sad appearance
Like a flag standing blatantly that says,
"This is my kingdom and its slogan my melancholy...
Sprawl down kneeling if you are a victim of malevolent love!"

Rebellion of a Woman

You, the man wavering in the horizon,

Do you see me through the darkened fog?

Do you see the woman who loved you from the wounds of her heart?

The rag you threw after being worn out by deceitful time?

You shout that I am a roguish woman…

How harsh that accusation was,

That sprouted from the brutality of your heart.

You, the man who says I am a criticism to an aristocratic society…

That society is a creation of your fantasy

The works of an arrogant, ignoble man,

And I created you in the verses of my poetry…

And I shall destroy you in the grasp of my hand,

To make of you ashes flying in the air

And turn you into a void with the bellowing wind.

I’ll make of you a toy, to play with as I wish…

And then throw you into a cheap, wooden box

After the boredom of a child…

So that oblivious time forgets you…

And turn you into nonexistence itself.

You have been caught in the bitterness of an injured woman…

You have fallen into a fate…nothing will free you from but…

The deepest of graves.

After the storm of emotions a timid sun shines

And I see my lover in the guise of an angel…

The heart of a goddess in love tenders

As she runs, afraid from the looming shadow of hatred…

To fall in the embrace of her love.

She prays for an eclipse, so the sun disappears…

So as her days will not be counted…

So time can stop and her love stays flourishing amid the shades of spring.

A wish… that the stars fall from the sky

And lay on the roses of women, like diamonds in the darkness of the night

As time freezes with the eclipse in the sky.

The Two-timing Lover

Life, full of evilness and falsity

A desert-like creation of man’s fantasy,

A prison of charlatan sham

That grounds sincerity into ash.

Yet there was this little spot in my heart,

I knew was true and good.

It spread like an evergreen lawn

And enveloped me with true lover-hood.

But suddenly a drought hit this spot

In my heart it turns into decaying rot.

All that was left is a vast desert,

And it my heart into two parts severed.

This spot was you my beloved

Whom I cared for trusted and believed.

Yet you broke my heart and from its happiness eased

Away with your infidelity.

Your image turned into delusion,

While reality struck me hard,

And into pieces shattered my heart

While your reflection perished into confusion.

Brutality of a Femme Fatale

This blood… with its aromatic scent…

The scent of the beastly trapped body…

Let me smell it… let me fill my lungs with this…

This scented fragrance… that roams the earth from end to end…

… uniting mankind.

Drops of your blood on my face in the early hours of the morning…

Let your blood give the moment its true meaning…

in this black, dark hour of idleness.

This blood… this dark, dark redness…

Let me dab it on my full pouting lips…

The blood of my lover…

Let me draw it on my forehead in the shape of a flower…

I wonder…will your blood taste like red, warm wine against my tongue?

Exploding joy with this smiling wound… your wound…

My lovers wound.

A poisoned bleeding from the body of my lover

Spilled to waist in a deadly duel down in the forest…

Beneath the green…

Your blood spilled for me…how cruel could my heart get?

Let it spill over the earth… history… observe…

Two drops of your blood neighbor over this solid earth…

Let your blood live forever… let it live by my side…

To nurse me through the strife of life…

Enough of this torture… your torture…

For my soul is satisfied.

Runaway

The silent moon rose from behind the curtains

Shadowing the whole universe.

My little friend viewed me in disdain,

For she knew the end of the earth was approaching.

Full of sadness I sighed, for the end was to come…

Like a helpless child on a pavement I have become.

It attacked me in my dreams,

And in my wake it crawled…

Knowing my fate was the hardest part of all.

I roamed the streets in vain,

Down dark alleys I wavered…

Up vacant hills I stumbled.

Not one drop of hope to fill my empty heart

So dry it has become like the cracking Sahara.

Hope was like a mirage that kept on playing tricks

Like a lonely girl wearied of life’s course.

I know that searching is worthless

But I know that the sun will rise one day

Like a shy bride, reluctant to be cherished.

I know I will be called a survivor.

Though until that time comes

I will stay on roaming streets

And…

A runaway I will be.

Last Day on Earth’s Edge

A tree standing at the edge of the world

At night the scenery is so faint

You mistake it for a flying bird.

The wind blows from the west

And I ache for perpetual rest.

But god is restless in his creation

And we nothing but manikin animations,

Unable to take the lead

For we are nothing but a mixture of meek. 

The storm then hits the base

And we run confused in great disgrace.

The sirocco bangs at god’s cradle

That sways in all directions and dangles

The echoing of the vast see is heard

That swirls the earth into one little scintilla

And resounds, ‘you weak, infantile race…

How much you ran but…

 Oh… the pursuit has not yet begun. 

The Wretched Lovers of the World

I glimpse a flying bird in the ever-blue sky

I look up with my black, misty irises and sigh.

The contrast sharply hits the senses

Reflecting the remnants of the light.

The iris is a mesh of blue and black,

Mirroring paradoxical emotions

That strangely harmoniously blend.

Blind and ancient cupid is that captures our hearts…

Feeble cores clasped in a strong yet gentle grasp.

We run, on hands and knees, then yearn

And walk back to its embrace.

A victim, a victimizer, the connection is

No other design could reside.

Fools who say love is forever…

It is a moment that sweeps you up

To a world of fantasy

Then truth comes hammering down

And you hit the cold ground.

Nails drag down the wall in need for love.

In early hours one wakes with the cry of an addict…

In need for this irresistible, sinful emotion

A sin in the world of the sane

But you still howl, “I need you…”

Duchess of Crapdom

She swung her hair up in the air

Trying to look ever so fair

She walked around on her tiptoes so light

Trying for poise with all her might.

“Ladies and gentlemen welcome with applause

The Duchess of Crapdom as she on the stage paused

Admire her stoutness and all her grace

Her long flowing hair and the decorative lace!”

She walked the stage like a bogus queen

Flaunting her riches in a manner obscene.

“Look at me with my pricey Burberry,

My posh Louis Vuitton- oh I am so merry!”

She then took out a bundle of cash

To throw around like useless trash.

“Thank you thank you” she bent her head

To the crowds who quickly to the money sped.

She then turned round and left the stage

To continue her act in some mortal cage.

On streets of need and homes of want

To parade her riches and the ravenous taunt!

She was the queen of all the drama

And calmed her not even the Dali Lama

For she was an artist of deceit

Please ignore the appearance that’s too sweet!

The wagging finger in your face

To live with her you got to embrace.

For she will wag with all her power

At every chance from her tall, haughty tower!

And god forbids she breaks a nail

I wish you mercy for all that’ll entail!

For she will scream her lungs and her voice

Until you bear not but have no choice.

She’ll bitch and ask for pricey Evian

When you present her with water of every man.

And she will be a control freak

While acting as if she is ever so unique!

Hither, look close my friend and you will perceive

Nothing but fraudulence in this phony eve!

Her hair and body are all about extensions

Her act but trivial, petty pretensions.

Ladies and gentlemen the Duchess I present

Please try not to my being resent

For I am simply introducing the worldly

That might not deserve much of your worthy!