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The Puppet Master

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  Puppet Master The narrow, high-walled passage swallowed the sound of my boot scraping a broken cobblestone, the echo sharp in the dry air. Above, a sliver of unforgiving sunlight cut down, carving deep shadows where the damp, mossy scent of the gully was now replaced by the smell of dust and ancient stone. I paused, looking not just at my gloved hand—the leather scuffed from my descent, but at what was attached to it. Thin, nearly invisible lines, like high-tensile wires , stretched from the articulated cuff on my wrist and disappeared into the air above the path. I tracked them with my eyes until they converged on a small, stone figure standing motionless in the centre of the walkway. It was a crude marionette , barely a foot tall, carved from the same pale, cracked stone as the surrounding walls. Dressed in a simple tunic, its blank, oval face held a radiating sense of expectant waiting. Its arms were held out, palms up. I held the strings. Yet, the feeling was not one of cont...
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Godin Defence: Why can't everything just stay the same?

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Life promised so much but little favour came my way.
And over this vista of nothingness I claimed what is mine.
I waited for all of the promises and yet none did come.
Others more fortunate gained splendor, but splendor was not me.
And I gained self respect on other's misfortune.
But your misfortune is not of my concern.
Count your blessings and rot in your tragedy.
Yes it will end in tears should you trespass my den.

I do not travel,  my miracle is here.
I remained close to my heritage.
This colonial might.
This is God's country, he gave it to me.
I will deny you entry.
You are contagion, you are far less than me.

There are trees in my backyard, insects and lizards.
Rodents scamper at my feet and bats by my ears.
My dog is obedient.
In silence we sit.
Impatient and anxious , I do not want change.
In dark moments I tend to my spite.
With bottle in hand I seek like-minded.

A good  man I have been.
I have done no wrong.
My house is clean.
My garden is tendered.
My lawn is mowed.
My animals are fed.
My hatred is strong.

This is my patch, it's where I belong.
This is my home, you are not welcome.
This is my country and I trust no other.
Why can't everything just stay the same?

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