Being the Fool / Zeta Ferrer
Shuffling through halls of glory;
A scholar’s cloth, a pile of books.
His hands and shoulders heavy
From the burden of expectant looks.
Oh how he envies the jester,
His foolish stories feather-light.
With his eccentric hat,
His puns, they almost bite.
Inside his heart he begs a spell
Allowing him a day to quell
The thirst for innocence and play.
He’d pay for a sprinkle of courage to display
Something imperfect he’d make.
He’d thank every mistake.
Thus a long sigh through the halls resonates.
For a flash he wonders if the jester would trade –
In exchange for honour and grandeur –
The role the scholar’s always played.
His contributions, the respect,
Entire knowledge one’d expect.
Unmatched in vision, passion, pride;
The power to turn wrongs into rights.
He’d bathe in the wisdom of his calibre,
Anticipatory admiration choking him.
Will the jester collapse?
Hate his new cursed life, perhaps?
Or can the jester somehow break
The misty chains around his neck?
His laughter loud either way,
Beaming smile as bright as day —
Will he still be the fool, and the new jester; the scholar?Sometimes the weight of our own expectations can make us the real fools, even more than those imposed on us by others.
It’s a personal poem that was inspired by the feeling of backing yourself into a corner where you feel trapped. The yearning to become the ‘jester’, unbothered and silly, represents this desire to experience inner freedom. It’s a pitfall I often fall into especially when it comes to productivity or wanting to be “normal” and like everyone else, but it’s wonderful to just carve out your own path and be whatever you want.