Am I really a puppet, free will a mirage?
Claiming as my own, that done by another?
What are these, strings that I see,
Who it is, that is pulling them?
Oh my friend, the answer lies within you,
You are the puppet, you are the puppeteer,
When you think you are a puppet,
Puppet it is, you will be..
When you think you are the master,
Master it is, you will be..
Strings oh yes, there are many..
You my friend, decide which strings to keep,
There you see in your hand,
The scissors to cut off, what is to be canned..
Not all strings, are quite the same,
Look closely and you will see it clear..
The string of fear, the string of doubt,
The string of anger, the string of mistrust,
No good do they bring, yet precious they are to you..
The string of faith, the string of hope,
The string of love, the string of joy..
Golden strings they are, yet you mistrust them..
My dear friend, my precious one..
Listen to me, oh please do..
You are in control, more than you think..
Get rid of this sense, of false helplessness..
Till the time, you still feel like a puppet,
Cut those strings that pull you back..
Let those golden strings, make you dance..
Dance with joy, dance with love,
Dance with faith, that all is meant to be..
Watch the scene, change before your eyes..
As you are led, to what is truly yours..
And then you will find, little by little..
That the hand that wields the golden strings..
Is no different, from that of your own..
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