We are all Puppets | Poem | Neha's Notebook

 

We are all puppets

Of the great cosmic designer,

The one who fills the morning suns

With cups of yellow golden sunshine

And the one who chimes and shimmers

In the silver moon of the starry nights.

 

We are all puppets

Of the great cosmic kite-flyer

The one, at whose fingertips

Fly the kites of all colours and shapes.

 

We are all puppets

Of the great cosmic musician

At whose rhythms do we pulsate

Like strings of a guitar

Like keys of a piano.

 

We are all puppets

Of the great cosmic painter

Who paints in lush green

The crisp needles of leaves

And the blades of the grass thin

Who paints the curtains of butterflies

and the rings of rainbows…

 

We are all puppets

Of the great cosmic sculptor

At whose fingertips,

Does clay models itself

And the mud vases fill their moulds.

 

We are all puppets

Of the magnificent cosmic magician

At the spell of whose wand

Shimmers the wave tips,

At the verse of whom

The stars align themselves

Into a melodious harmony.

 

We are all puppets.

Of this handsome cosmic dancer

At whose moves, moves the universe

The galaxies swirl and coil,

The planets rotate, the fire boils.

 

We are all puppets

Colourful wrapped packages,

Encapsulating the charming enigma

The boxes of tricks and infinite mysteries

Within each one of us.

 

We are all puppets

We carry this mysterious puppet-master

Secretly within us.

Yes, within each one of us…