Song of Innocence
The orange light
of the setting sun:
it tells everyone
that the day is done.
It’s time to unwind,
set the day apart,
to empty your mind
and to fill your heart.
Song of Experience
The bloody light
of the setting sun,
it tells the night
that the day is done.
There is no suspense
for the die is cast,
you can drop pretence
and relax at last.
Congenital stupidity is nothing to be ashamed of, it is not a character flaw, it is a part of the characteristics one is dealt in life, like one’s race and sex and hair colour. On the other hand, wilful stupidity – the conscious refusal to think, to consider alternative ideas, to imagine the lives of others who are different from oneself – is a crime against humanity.
Today the rain is blue,
it smells of dying leaves,
it splashes in itself,
it plops in drops and drips;
today the rain is soft;
today the rain is warm;
the music of the rain
gives thought staccato form;
it washes off the dust,
it makes the pavement shine;
the street is flowing past;
the song of rain is mine!
The world sees you in terms of opposites: light and dark, love and hate,
good and evil…
and that is how you learn to see yourself.
You throw yourself from one extreme to another, turning your life into
tragedy performed in the binary rhythm of a farce;
you adopt grand poses and build unbelievable justifications, Don Quixote
fighting conventional windmills…
How precious then is your reflection in the eyes of a child, where
values become unimportant
and you can simply be.
Clowns – the soul of the circus.
Not an act as such – a connection between the worlds.
They engage our empathy and cruelty, provoke kindness and fear…
Coulrophobia is translated as “the fear of clowns”, it means “the fear of self”.
Tell me what makes you laugh and show me who you are.
Their bodies litter our roads:
expected, almost unnoticed, left by the wayside…
not murdered –
killed accidentally by inattention to familiar routes,
too trivial for pathos, too pointless for tragedy.
We live our lives next to each other,
leaving behind little corpses of our selves and of others’,
unseen, extinguished by inattention of habit:
road-kill.
I wonder how much will be left alive
by the end of the day?
