Puppets

What is ours? We realise it late

We are puppets in the hands of fate.

Make us, mar us, tarnish us it may,

with Own rules, It allows us to play.

 

 

Lose; you may the winning stroke,

and may win the losing bet.

Glistening , baseless dreams broke

A long ago, was our journey set.

Who pulls the string?

Who pulls the string?

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