The Stranger and The Fool
Where goest thou soul?
have you split again
into your kaleidoscope frame
in the body so vestigial contained
what if there is not one Other
but many that enter inside
waiting to stake claim
Where goest thou poet?
the higher self penned
it seems you have been contracted
to Groundhog Day again and again
Perhaps you are God, and in you the Matrix,
many souls enter your vessel
like a hotel door rotates and it swings
Where goest thou observer?
you stare at a wall, praying
like a wailing wall waits
for its prayers to be called,
head bowed, knocking, knocking, thrice knocking,
the mind opens its humble Shushan Door
where its Eastern side unsealed, shines so much more
and in walks The Stranger
the reading and writing of messages, bled
palms outheld, barefeet marked,
you have inherited the stigmata
all of a sudden you understand
you have been bookmarked,
alike for a while, shelved to be read
when It counts,
at the closing moment
of the main truth, the do and the dare
you are seated as if religiously waiting in Sunday school
passing and failing the tests, and failing again,
The Stranger smiles
as if you are the only one that imagines
The Stranger Is there,
The Stranger notes the notes you are passing back and forward again,
the teacher out front, has their back turned again, unaware
you pass The Stranger a note,
on it is written, “Get me the Hell out of here.”
The Stranger laughs and agrees
I follow The Stranger's lead like a child waits for a Saviour
to save the day, make it cool -
not a word spoken, yet the exchange, clearly heard,
the Door is wide open, and
out in the playground I am
again, throws me the ball,
I take the shot
The Stranger’s no fool
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Shushan/Golden Gate.
Copyright ©
Candide Diderot
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