The red curtains draw, the raucous sound of applause,
The scent of popcorn permeates the air,
The wooden paneled stage, in the Victorian Age
Waits for me whilst I prepare
I remember it well, the plush red seats
The engraved friezes set into the walls
The bright studio lights, shining from the rafters’ heights
The sonorous chorus echoing through the halls
My master lifts me gently, from my hinged oaken chest
His smile so fond and so sweet
His favorite Marionette, for I can interpret
His art, and his essence complete
The audience calls to me as I am lowered down,
They stomp and cheer in delight
The audience regales, in my heroic tales,
As I dance in the warm spotlight
Upon crystalline strings that pull me to and fro
I silently, hypnotically pantomime
The phantasm is replete, to those leaning forward in their seats
Transfixed on my movements sublime
For countless years, I performed in this theater
The musty scent and creaky floors I know best
The other puppets my friends, their survival depends
On this home, let it never divest
And then came the sound that shattered this rapture
A sickly snap in the air
I come back to the now, and wonder how
Such beauty was consumed by disrepair
The walls now dilapidated, the insects long since invaded
Dust clogs every corner and crevice
The theater seats worn, the red curtains torn
The eerie silence vast and endless
I sit in the center of the creaky wooden stage,
Further into despair I sink
I can see in the fractured mirror, a single droplet tear
On my pale cheek, painted in dark ink.
How strange it is to think, now that my dream is shattered
And I stare longingly at my beloved things
That all that I knew, away in the wind blew
All because of a few broken strings
How fragile life is, fragile as a porcelain puppet
And as fleeting as an audiences’ eyes
When my string snapped, and my right arm flapped
Those adoring eyes seemed like traitorous lies
And so here I sit, alone and forgotten
Reminiscing on a life of kings
I sit in the dust, to my own company I trust
Remembering a time without broken strings
The red curtains draw, the raucous sound of applause,
The scent of popcorn permeates the air,
The wooden paneled stage, in the Victorian Age
Waits for me whilst I prepare
By Yasmeen Salama
April 15, 2014