"Une Bonne Affaire"
One fall day we went to a county fair And saw an amazing stand: There sat many dolls, so strangely fair, As if from enchanted land. The lady seller then told me: “Hon, I see how you like my dolls – You may take two for the price of one, Just take good care of both. This here's Alice, ribbons in ginger hair, And pale one is called Mavette. You seem the only one not being scared So, her, you would also get.” We paid the money and brought them home And proud was I to be bold, I sat Mavette on a little throne, To Alice, gave key of gold. Mavette observes all, an evil queen, From very top of the shelf, And Alice, arrogant, holds the key – To what, I don’t know myself. A few months passed -and arrived a plague, And after the plague, the war. And left through windows laugh and luck, And misery came to door. The world went ablaze, and I, insane, And, curling into a ball, - I saw that only dolls stay the same, Unmoved and untouched by all. I’m frightened and I should make them leave, - But promise is there to keep, Glass eyes seem now to shine with glee, Faint smiles on painted lips. I write “This property is condemned” And wait till I too am gone Because of my poor choice, may it be damned, Two dolls for the price of one. ******************************
* This is a true story. The events depicted are unfolding. At the request of the survivors, the names have NOT been changed.
**I guess I have a new contender for the most idiotic post of mine! Woohoo
***I think it’s about time to do “Ask Me Anything”. So. Think whether you’d like to ask me, well, anything? even though some things seem to be crystal clear by now
*****Yours, with love and squalor
I inherited a rag doll that people praise as if she was made of marble stone, and piss on her at every chance as if she was to blame for every petty word they utter to each other.
Can we turn our back to our dolls? I guess that is my question for you, Chen.
Your poem sounds like a fearful ballad. And it reminded me that once I left my grandchildren to sleep in my TV room with a lot of Russian dolls, young girls for the small teapots and big ones for big pots for boiling water. In the morning, I entered the room. All my dolls were covered by a blanket. My darlings told me they were afraid of my dolls. But your poetic style is amazing.