Prince of Fools

40

In the warm sunshine, of a beautiful mind –
I rest my head, I do weep
I of all people know, what it signifies
Brief mortality, organic vulnerability

I could die of shame/
For knowing, how a writer
Is circumcised, like love without a clitoris
Who can pounce upon that

Dream, there is no rule/
Who wins in literature
I won’t get an MFA
Or become a publication whore

But in the countryside of /
Amber singing alphabets
I’ll die of humility
As if I lived in unemployed Spain

In some little villages, where the flock is thin/
In the warm sunshine
Of a fellow artist, I’ll cross my heart
And shed a tear, and tell them

‘Nobody mourns the giver’
Because the beauty
Is in the message, I see a sadness in this
There is no salvation here

Back to the king’s court/
Where everything is political
And everything is ugly
I strive towards your mandalas

That you hide in the courtyard/
There is no such thing, as the death of the muse
Beauty lives too brightly in us
I’ll be destroyed like a prince of fools.

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