Marionettes

Your bones trot after your flesh.

Mind tries to pull you together.

Motionless body waits to be plugged in

by one or two sips of dark, heavy coffee.

 

Caffeinated you crawl through the day.

Hours are smudged over your face of relentless hopes and tainted wishes.

As the dark sneaks in and the sun rushes west for a good night sleep,

you fold your skin, respectively, just to wait for another golden beam

to slap you.

 

Eyes, puffy and swelled search for the cold water to wipe the foggy lenses of

dreams that still cling above your head.

You call my name.

It echoes in the empty cave of our abandoned and never fulfilled desires.

I’m approaching, giving you your new paper cloths to try on.

“These clothes should fit you”, I say.

“Perfect, to tighten your bones and stitch to your soul,

You heart won’t jingle”.

 

Each of us now takes our positions in the Draw of life.

Waiting for the Destiny to take us out, and play with us.

We are just marionettes in her hands, praying that strings are strong enough:

not to break when in boredom she throws us on the floor.

 

Maja S. Todorovic