The hands that pulled the puppets' strings,
Poured blood and flesh into the themes,
Pushed them into the shade and light,
Tricked them into the traps of plight,
And drew the hearts of passers-by.

They were the light that burned the sight,
They were the blinkers of the nights,
They were the masters and the guides,
The deft designers of their lives.
And they were satisfied.

But as they swaggered, they believed
That they alone had known the deeds;
They had writtern the fates of marionettes.
And felt no fear.

Then one day they said it was time
To charter the course of humankind.
They boldly could extend their range,
They had been there, they could remain.
And lost the hearts of passers-by.

- Sushil Soni