Clowns Don'T Bleed Funny Poem by Praveen Wilson

He puts up a funny act,
fools around, for their sake.
His sadness, his pain,
veiled beneath layers of make up,
plastered grin and a funny red nose.
He entertains with flawless expressions.

But, clowns don't bleed funny.
His blood too runs thick and crimson.
Ever heard him cry?
Ask the lonely nights,
nights that witness,
his silent sobs and whimpers.
Ask the tear stained pillows,
the mirror that reflects,
reflects his true self, sans all paint.
Wondered why his eyes always has a red hue?
Asked if he'd ever loved another?
Felt the pangs of a love lost?

No. None ever asked.
Few dared to look beyond the mask.
Ignorant are they of his dreams.
Oblivious, of his wishes and desires.
"He's just a clown", they'd say
and laugh it all away.
But, clowns don't bleed funny.
His blood too runs thick and crimson.