A puppet has no say A soulless object Which's not supposed to ever have its way, And is often manipulated as a puppeteer's project. It has to move and dance strictly on the lines drawn by the hand that holds it. Hands might change, Puppet's destiny still stays the same, She is no better than a game. A toy, an entertainment as long as spectators feel cheery. If once by some external force a string of its gets torn, Puppeteer feels it's just a liability better not to be borne. In a far-off niche or an attic it's ruthlessly flung or savagely thrown, Since it's of no more use to the hand it had previously adorned. The world has no use for the one that has loose strings. The puppet is for sure doomed like a bird with a broken wing, Which can't anymore fly towards the blue sky. Little did the puppeteer realize that it was either his harsh pull or rough try That puppet can't anymore comply. Grace be to God, Who endowed the puppeteer with the knack to sew and de...