The one who brings joy
Asked the one who attempts
To bring laughter and mirth,
“Why is it that you cannot speak?”
The one who was called
A fool replied with smiling face,
“I cannot speak,”
Eyes shut in retreat from
His encroaching grin.
They sat on the steps
Of a ruined temple outside,
The fool in his colorful robes,
The one who brings joy
In a simple grey shirt.
“I ask again,” said the shirt,
“Why is it that you cannot speak?
You have the most wonderful
Of jobs in all the land,
Yet I cannot understand why
You do not shout
But only sing?”
The fool smiled brightly,
Chuckling from the throat.
In his mind was trapped
A circus of knowledge not
Yet tempered by the right
Experience into wisdom.
He thought about how
Desperately the words would
Circle in his mouth,
Drowning in a whirlpool,
Tripping over uneven stones
That lined its shores.
How he felt no power
Though he may the strongest be,
Appearing as a kitten,
Helpless in a whicker basket
In an empty field,
Rather than as a lion
With his pride,
As others thought him to be.
Others laughed, he laughed,
Yet this was never enough,
Or was it anything to begin with?
Where is the currency
Of ancient traders once valued,
Now buried under the sea
In lava-baked cakes?
The fool looked at the joyous man,
Still alight with glee,
Eyes stinging at thoughts
Of how he would be forced,
Forever and always,
To reply, “I cannot speak.”
Composed 07/10/2012
Author’s Note: Sometimes, when life gets you down, you just need to have a conversation with someone you can trust. This conversation never took place, but I always wonder if this is how it would have happened. Learning languages can be frustrating.
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