The Puppet Show
By: Dr. Pragya Suman
The crown of thorns is in full bloom in my makeshift vista.
Should I get enamored?
Perhaps one day Christ would unlock the door, I heard that He had won the final freedom.
Would he come to me?
I am opening the nails inserted in the cranium of puppets. I saw them centuries ago on the platform, sitting amid the middle row along with my parents.
The puppets were dangling in the visible threads, my rectus muscle moved on four axis, letting eyeball slitherrrrrring in search of fingers, but in vain.
Today I saw them enclosed in a rectangular cloud on the eastern horizon, beckoning me, would be soon there, as I have to collect all the nails.
the hanging wall clock
of broken oscillators.