by Meghna Chatterjee, Age 15, India
THE CLOWN DEPRESSION
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
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.”