I think he didn’t understand but he pretended he had.
But I wouldn’t be the one to know.
But I’m sure it was the racehorse rider
Who screamed “fire!”
When he saw the cigarette
And jumped off the palmyra palm
And the piper just went on playing
His Cs at D#.
He didn’t care but he couldn’t help it either.
I don’t know how long the racehorse rider took
To realize he wasn’t drowning
And swam back to the foot of the palm tree
As wet as the plumber’s cigarette
And forgot to ask us the time.
I was relieved.
But no one else noticed.
And when it started to rain
The intellectual went to a lower sheltered branch
And said he loved the rain.
While the plumber just gazed at the clouds and waited for eternity.
The racehorse rider was sheltered
And by then he’d already fallen asleep
Snoring hopelessly loud
In time with the D#s.
Which couldn’t be heard anyway
Because of the rain.
10 comments:
ohh.
'The intellectual went to a lower sheltered branch,
And said he loved the rain.'
Yes.
Since when have actions and words needed to mesh, anyway?
The rain serves to amplify the music,or maybe dropped D tuned guitars melt in with the patter of raindrops..
Someday i'll understand all this.
aint sure you chat and aint sure when you are gonna read this comment. Whenever you do, try and add me as thecrizfiles in yahoo, hotmail or gmail.
Lets try and chat sometime!
i think one can find hidden meaning in the words your write.
for when we mark our words on time, we leave behind a hint. a whisper of the rainy time, a whisper of the sun; a whisper nor unless beggot, is but true as love devoid. there is no beauty as red fern bloom, nor such despair as spring neglect. yet why we risk nonsensical trials is not so much an intentional leap; more whisper of a mind devoid, devoid of open ears. for when through pen we speak our minds, it's done nontroppo. in moderation feels neglect, yet very nonpareil.
i think one can find hidden meaning in the words your write.
for when we mark our words on time, we leave behind a hint. a whisper of the rainy time, a whisper of the sun; a whisper nor unless beggot, is but true as love devoid. there is no beauty as red fern bloom, nor such despair as spring neglect. yet why we risk nonsensical trials is not so much an intentional leap; more whisper of a mind devoid, devoid of open ears. for when through pen we speak our minds, it's done nontroppo. in moderation feels neglect, yet very nonpareil.
A fable of fools... I wonder...
They seem much smarter then most ppl I know, me included. Very few of us understand, we just pretend we do..and we can never accept everything the way ur characters seem 2 hv done.. there r many pipers in this world too, who do their own thing and say their own say without listening or bothering abt anyone else..& thats gr8 in a way..most ppl sing the wrong tune and most ppl realise things late..ur characters r just like anyone else..
A fable of fools is something I'll remember..its a gr8 work.
Also, in 'A fable of fools Part 1'
u should hv stopped counting seconds a long time ago, because u were the first one 2 go mad.
want 2 read more such fables..-Pragya
what happenned? No post since a long time...
i miss you rj.
what happened to the "Question Book, Online."
Sniff.
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