The King and the Clown

This time, the King bowed to the crowd
And told them stories of fictional heroes
Of battles fought with the gods
The glorious fictions were beautiful
The horses were flying! No—the men were flying horses!
The exploits of ancient warrior-centaurs gripped the crowd
Then tiny fairies winged their infinitesimal paths
Fixing what the horsemen destroyed
Before the destruction was tallied, it vanished!
As if no battle was fought
As if gods and centaurs never grappled hugely
The King framed his tales in beauty
Standing onstage and seen by young and old
Barking some words powerfully, whispering others softly
Becoming a cast of characters
One moment the handsome hero
The next a filthy beggar
Rapt, the children followed his movements
And the women leaned closer every time he praised them
In those moments, the King spun beautiful words his Kingdom wanted to hear
But then it was over
The man’s creation ended
The curtains closed
Backstage, the King took off his crown
And dressed as a clown and went forth again
When he and his monkeys performed playful tricks
The crowd regathered
Among them, only one child noticed
The king had only been a clown

(written by me, Dec 2009)

Boxes

Take me out of this box you made for me!

“You don’t look like a terrorist” she says to me.

As I take a sip of my drink, I smile, for she thought she complimented me.

I get lost in the ignorance… or maybe it’s innocence that puts me in such a box.

Should I change my name? Maybe dye my hair blond just so you can relate to me?

 

 

The Pond, Part 1

A hesitant kiss on the cheek, close to her mouth,

He doesn’t know what to do, can’t stop the train.

Soon she’ll be gone.

The frogs in the pond, he yelled, they are begging you to stay… it’s not just me!

These trees! They cried all night while you laid between the sheets.

And you know the cricket, that one that you asked me to take outside, he sung by our window all day long…it’s not just me dear, it’s not just me!

She couldn’t look him in the eye. One way ticket is all she can afford. Is all she wanted– secretly.

The vibrations of the ground told him that the train is near.

There’s nothing he can do

He looked at her, with a sad smile: “look at me darling!”

“You know, the mountains won’t meet the flat ground you’re going to…the smell of hot concrete will make you miss the pond’s stench. The stars! They won’t be visible dear! Won’t you miss the stars?”

Her cold hands that he held on to were so warm once.

She wasn’t in love anymore. The pond was a thing of the past…she’s ready for the next train.

She didn’t even pack her cloths

A hand bag is all she took, filled with papers and colored pens… and a dried old flower that he couldn’t remember giving to her.

She hasn’t stopped loving him; she just needed a new muse.

Her fuel was inspiration and the pond has run out.

(By me, written Feb 2012)

A Thanks to Earth Poem

A thanks to Earth,

Immigrant I thought I had left my home

Here to a new place where I did not belong

But as I saw the moon I did not feel so alone

 

Comforted by what I knew, I stared into space

The clouds looked familiar

And between the cracks of grey sky I found my place

The stars knew me and the sun could relate

Then I understood

The earth is vast and it does not discriminate

(By me, July 2016)