Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site


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: 170    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...


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.