Touched and Untouched

I laugh today amidst tears….both are this role bearer….the laughing clown and the teary eyed doe

this pathetic role bearer

Caught as though in the grip of its roles

Of hurt wife, or angry lover

Of loving mother, or a doting son…

But am I really any of this at all ?

To even feel relieved that I am not, is to affirm this role bearer that in Truth IS NOT.

Yet it’s part in the mirage is played

Of splashing itself in coloured moulds.

Like the fabled song of the indigo jackal.

And thus that colourless Self as though stained in hues

Of angry red and sorrowful grey

Romancing pink with a proud turquoise streak

Some brush strokes harsh of dark ink black, on a canvas stark as white…

All a mirage of lashing waves at the shore…

The Truth - an ocean untouched at the core.