A mask of sterile magenta dyed poignantly,
Hides the joke and his feasible mercies,
Plausible audiences always conquer; enmities-,
Reign over an under prepared bigotry,
Dear Harlequin, efface that grin of Gold,
And place thy mirror onto thine soul,
Reflect among a hatred of all,
Clown in life but sorrow of old,
Picking up thine worn slippers-,
Washed and faded among cold stone
Memory dents thou slant brow; and moan-,
For the day’s pay willingly festers-,
Into the hands of Rent to pay thy ills,
Smiling as you do, reading branded Vedas,
Praying to anything that will say Hellas!
Raising hope anew on those barren hills,
Completing the day’s painful alms,
Look onto yonder remorse,
Death, my dear, takes its quick course,
Waiting to end all mortal qualms.
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Submission Name: Harlequin
