Global Theatre Poem by Ananta Madhavan

'All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.'
William Shakespeare, (in about 1600)
'As You Like It', Act II, scene 7



Bard of Avon, beg your pardon,
O Bard Beyond Borders!
You left your language to a few
As they liked it, but not as you.

Your Jacques addressed posterity
When you spun out that simile
Of all the world as a stage,
Where we are actors of every age,
From infancy to rotting dotage.
We all have entrances and exits
Playing our roles as stars or misfits.

I take your point, O Bard genius,
But let me be pretentious
And trail your evergreen metaphor.
Life is drama, but it can't compare
With your tragi-comedies. In fact,
It is plotless, a play sans the Final Act,
Where the audience, pit, stalls and loge,
Are also players roaming the stage;
When we miss the cue we feel free
To ad-lib declamations or ask for tea,
And snacks to munch, spirits to imbibe.
The Director has left, cannot be bribed.
We are all dramatis personae
Totally without a say
In a theatre of the Absurd.
Maybe you would refute the word.

As for living, trust a robot
To enact a waiter for Godot.


It matters not, for we have the marvel
Of talking tongues to bid farewell
Ruing or smiling, ready to compose
The next scene as we strut or doze.

- - - - - - 27 Sep.2015