Puppet and Strings

Puppet is hooked to strings that make it play,
And its life current passes through those strings.
So am I, a marionette in a way,
As my bloom or gloom, the strings of stimulus brings.

But I, in illusion of doing the things,
Do the profit or loss for all that reap,
Still looking for freedom to spread my wings,
Only to find its snare, as though ambushed to grip!

One early morn in a gleam of thy light
I saw behind all this the hook of attitude,
Stringing me to play in hands of this plight;
This seeing made me still in mute gratitude.

Let in my inmost self be the only plea:
"In love-spring of thy light alone be my glee."

© Mohan Vaishnav 

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