Fiction: The Clown Depression (a poem)

by Meghna Chatterjee, Age 15, India



Heard a good joke once,
of a white-faced man who made them
glassy-eyed, mouth turned down

called himself a clown,
a jester, though he seldom smiled.
but they beat their chests and
jeered and laughed

the poor clown stood by his
the art of keeping pallid, still,
painted face to beguile,

trained to make them smile.
I looked into a mirror,
once, and saw the white-faced man
must be a shadow, a play of light

but my face appears white.
rainbow laces, where the sleeves meet
my hands,
just like the man in the coffee shop,

or the girl who smiled
and said hello, although
her baby died last month.


Meghna writes: “I’m a fifteen year old girl trying to get a better grasp of the world through words.”


2 comments on “Fiction: The Clown Depression (a poem)

  1. Hiya

    This is beautiful. Keep it up!

  2. Adaline G.

    This is really good! You are a great writer!

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