Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Poem - The Clown

The Clown…

Furtive in the escape I make from all that has to be

Wanting to reassure, and seem at set at peace

I trust and share in the honesty of mirrored laughter

But the clown, the fool has in time to come off-stage

And as the weariness of life's journey is felt in one's feet

So their embrace in warming water softens the heart

And the clownish smile, the makeup and pretence

Are washed away, soothed and disturbed into tears

Then the gentle touch in drying affirms and values

Meets the tension and ticklishness of fears and doubts

And patiently brings them from death to life

So now the clown's tears are real and free

The act, the script, the audience, the stage

All are vanished away

And there is no more script to play the fool

Vulnerable, himself, the clown does not know who he is,

And all the cheers, the smiles, seem far away

Silent, restless, I feel the pain of compromise,

The death-dealing self-annihilation of performance

The anger of walking paths that others choose

The frustration in wanting freedom to improvise,

The hypocrisy of living ill at ease with gut-feeling,

And knowing that death seems easier than change.

And in the pain, the anguish that churns the soul

Death to one's self, life to the script, seems the answer

Till gentle, caring lips that have met with feeling

Speak in tender poetic words and touch deep

Deeper than the most passionate embrace

Until the clown knows that he must be himself

Lay aside the make-up, costume and ruddy nose

And cry no more painted tears, but only my own.

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