Laughter’s Shadow

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the 

wise man knows himself to be a fool.” 

Motley, bells and bawdy tales, 

Strung in a cacophony of dins, 

Patchworked seams in taunt of 

Drab wools, sober velvets, lavish silks and skins.

He remains ubiquitously unseen. 

His tongue rattles in rhymes and riddles

Devilish wit and nonsensical bore 

Mocking the preened feathers - 

Who mock the very wings that soar. 

Monsters are not always lurking in the shadows. 

The Marotte laughs in bold reflection 

Of the faux crown, 

Weaving unsaid verses, 

Vying to ask, who is the clown? 

He hides within the sceptre’s eyes. 

To roll die, gamble coin, deal cards, 

In knowledge that each number hinges the game,

Quietly refuting the canvas painted 

Upon the chanced frame. 

Be wary of a hand that shows the fool. 

The peacocks and doves 

Open their feathers to dance, 

Not knowing to lust, or to leer. 

A tango of threat, of a tempting trance. 

As he prances and croones, his shadow remains still.

The oddity and the oracle, 

The comically grotesque farce. 

His falls mask his nimble frame, 

His wisdom masked by an arse. 

Shadows are only noticed when one’s back is turned to the light. 

Written by Julian Kumar 

Julian Kumar is a creative who paints a portrait of magic, and reality’s place lies in haunting the frame.