The Parable of the Sad Clown

“The ocean clears our mind

Leaving sands and stories behind

And there’s nothing else to say

Till the next burning day

So hold on to your stories

Till they become memories”

Hearing this from the old gypsy

I crept up to the sad deep sea

But the sea –

She stared at me,

And softly she said –

“Your Prophet is dead"

But I had no Prophet, the sea had lied

Nobody was born, hence none had died

I’m just a sad old clown

Sitting by the river, planning to drown

But then that old gypsy

He came down, and said to me –

“Son,

I’d spoken of the ocean,

And not of the sea”

This story of thorns, of crowns

And of other sad clowns

Shall be told

To the young, to the old

To the meek, to the bold

And to those dreamers who dig for gold….

And the moral of this tale is that

You may be thin, you may be fat

You may be poor, you may be rich

You may be a dog, you may be a bitch

Just be happy with whatever you’ve got

And be proud of the battles you’ve fought

Victory and defeat are shameful lies

That the sea has spread across the skies

Hence do not yearn for eternity

’cause the ocean is not the sea…..