There were strings

to my actions and who

was holding them?

who else but imagination

Cartoons swimming in my head,

knee deep,

flooded with fantasy,

enough to make me artificial

And my joints were

riveted by purposeful immitation,

so as to steal the limelight

from reality,

well I succeeded

But somehow, this self-manipulation,

manipulated myself

and morphing to characters,

as the strings of immitation

were pulled and dropped

also moved from human

to walking cartoon

My skin become wood,

but my nose wouldn't extend

as I transformed into a breathing

lie because I was

a wooden actor,

artificial,

a puppet on the stage

of attention.

                       By Kakraba Afful