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Pinocchio...

Poetry By: Rajarshi
Young adult



We all are puppets of each others hand. A doll, waiting to be something. Something real. Far away from what we are. Not just a face. To be free. This poem is about that freedom, that reality.


Submitted:Feb 21, 2012    Reads: 152    Comments: 6    Likes: 1   


Hi I am Pinocchio,
the wooden doll.
A hand made puppet
and my master,
well you are all.

Carved from a magic wood,
I can speak.
But when I look out of the window,
I dream to be a real me.

Strings attached to my body,
I do a lot of shows.
Puppet of my masters hand,
I dance in his shows.

Hi I am Pinocchio,
the wooden doll.
With lots of strings,
and no life at all.

I want to walk on the streets,
to feel free.
But everytime I try to,
A string holds me.

No life,
no feelings at all.
If sold,
I accept the bidders call.

I am a joker for few,
and for others,
just a wooden doll.
You pull the strings,
and I will dance on your call.

Hi I am Pinocchio,
the wooden doll.
I dream to be real,
but the strings hold me
so I could not go on...





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