The Fool.


‘I don’t know. I simply don’t know’ I mutter to the blue sky. My hair is disheveled and beard hung low. My tattered clothes gave me away for a homeless person. My torn waist coat is open and I’m sitting in the shallow part of the river, on my knees.

I don’t know. I don’t understand. I clench my fist and slam into the water. Why are you not stopping? Why are you not hurt? It doesn’t stop. I wish it would stop and cry, and fight me back. It doesn’t. My hair falls over my eyes and I hold my face and cry. Helpless. I look at the water and the see myself, myself? I close my right fist and slam on the water again, I hit the pebbles underneath. My knuckles are bleeding and there is a dash of red in the water. Finally.

You submissive fool, you stupid servant. Water. Why I can’t hold you? Why can’t I keep you in my palms forever? Why can’t I defeat you if you are so submissive? Why do you forgive me every single time? I lie down on my chest and open my mouth. Water rushes to my stomach, lungs. I stand up and puke. A dash of yellow in the water. I laugh.

Over the sky, two birds fly together towards their home.


2 thoughts on “The Fool.

  1. Priya Prithviraj

    I like the way you have used the river motif in this story as well as in your previous short story “Old Man and the River”.

    Liked by 1 person

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