Poetry

The Fool is Me and I am It

Many seasons have passed leaving traces of their existence,
In the silvery threads,
Flowing down the creased forehead,
Veiling the questionable glint,
Reflecting on the tortured eyes,
Revealing the perplexity,
Of a crazy mind.

“Why the glint?” you ask,
I say “Why not?”
When I know that I have fought,
For far too long to call myself a saint!
And I welcomed it all,
Like the devil,
I took it all in.
I jealously guarded my moments of bliss,
Till the time I could no longer recognize,
That they had been mine,
Once upon a time.

And I sailed like a fool,
Across the vast oceans,
Where humanity surfaced from the crevices,
Of inhuman devices,
And barbaric plans.
And I was still fooling around when the waves,
Hit my face again and again.
I was still a fool when I got flung,
On the shores of an unnamed land.

And today, this is where I stand.
Without a home to call a ‘home’,
Without a mind, that was once only mine,
But this fool has nothing to lose,
For it no longer wants to ‘own’.

The fool just wants to be a part of the foolery,
And watch the universe grow and expand,
To accommodate ‘more’ of everything,
Yet the fool is foolish enough to want more.

That being is me, and I am it.
We fight our own battles of wit.
I point a finger, it deals a blow,
Vehement denials swirl,
Realizations flow.
We watch the parody together as we grow,
For we think we very well know,
That the show must end someday,
So, we’d better keep our expectations low.

And when the deserted stage,
Stares back at our befuddled faces,
We must remember to keep the spirit high,
We must remember to put up a smile,
And let the universe know,
That we immensely enjoyed the rendezvous,
So much so,
That we’ve laughed our guts out,
And we do not intend to stop now!

So, we go insane, and laugh!
We remember, and we laugh!
We question, we laugh!
We find answers, and we stop.
Only to start again after a while,
For we know that we do not know better,
Than to laugh at ourselves than others.
My fool and I tried that too,
Only to be reminded that we were in fact,
The funniest of all,
And that was funny too!

I take a step closer towards that being,
And it shuns me like I am a stranger!
“Too clever, too knowing and too blind”- it says,
To befriend the silly creature that breathes inside.

The fool will only embrace me,
When I close my eyes to see,
The flowers that grew within and died,
The thorns that pricked the wings,
Of the thoughtful butterfly,
Until it refused to fly.

But at times the fool will hold my hand,
And help me cross over to promising lands,
We’ll sing our way through many hearts,
We’ll merrily trespass some rusty minds,
Whistling on our way back,
Through preserved souls,
And enchanting times.
Ducking and rolling under social blinds,
Climbing walls of fear and ego,
Safeguarding the devil within,
And mocking the hero,
Laughing with the crowd with a lump in our throats,
We sail through as the universe floats.

The fool is me, and I am it.
We are together and apart, and we know it.
We are funny, but so is the journey,
A few laughs, and we’ll make it.

Till the time the silvery strands,
Are there to veil the undying glint,
Of the tortured eyes betraying a chaotic mind,
That brings the dead flowers back to life.

“Why the glint after all?”, you may say.
And I’ll still whisper,
“Well, why not?”

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