Nameless Him – For Totally optional prompts.

He stepped on and bowed, and tripped and fell
The crowd laughed, who could tell-
That the fall was genuine, the pain was from within,
He became the clown before the part could begin.

He carried on, with his knees bruised and pained,
But he was never praised, unlike a soldier maimed.
His life was in turmoil, no one knew it outside,
For he was laughing, must be a jolly man inside.

It is an irony that he had colorful dresses to wear,
The dresses that he couldn’t show to his blind mother,
Who would not be proud to see them any way,
He was a clown, a shame which she couldn’t nay.

For years, he was the master performer-alone he lived,
The young trapeze artists did what their parents did,
For now he was the star clown -(still unmarried by the way)
This was to be his life with no retirement day,

He was old and humbled by the age’s wizening lessons,
But for the kids who came to see, he was one of the dozens,
Even now others laughed as he tripped and fell down,
But this time he fell, he never got up- the poor old clown.

P.S. For people who dont know TOP, go here

To do or not to do?

This is for TOP whichI discovered through Felicity. Since anonymity is the blessing of internet, here goes nothing..This week’s theme is a mystery thriller!

Some people said that this is a criminal mistake,
Some said that you should care what the world thinks.
Some even said that this is a murder by all means.
But then I didn’t stop- I was too immature to listen.

Then I grew up and thought that I wanted to stop doing it.
When there is no rhyme or reason, why even go with it?
Sometimes what is sense to you seems criminal to others.
That is when I stopped and put myself behind the bars.

Then I broke free, because I went mad without my weapon,
I decided to do it again, to bring justice to the world’s men
Now I am not scared of the laws of the land- but I am
Scared of the newly hesitant fingers and the shaking hand.

What is music to me is murderous scream to someone else.
What is painting to me is bloody mess to someone else.
For someone, my work is my claim to shame, not fame.
For me it doesn’t matter – A poem by any other name.