Confession of a clown ⇒ Kirno Sohochari

Laughter is a pleasure when I stand at the edge of a mountain peak, with no regrets for anything I have done in my life. What I have done is, just save me from the terror of despair.


My regret is a pleasure for many and displeasure to me. Anyway, why do I regret? Why do I expose my emotion to them, who makes laugh with me per chance? Many get the pleasure to see me repentant and apologetic. They expressed their sympathetic pleasure, for what I have done to feel the cadence of love and agony underneath my skin.

Confession of a clown_0_1

… Wait! Don’t laugh to see me. Life is a psychedelic laughter of clowns. They are in everywhere. Clowns peeping underneath everyone’s outfit and they pissed everybody’s mind. The clown is he who never stopped his laugh in a nightmare, who is inept to shut his mouth seeing the shadows of despair, and not sentient to hide the comedia underneath his speck-colored face… 
… … …

Why do I open my heart to them, who think they are the sentinel to check what’s going underneath my skin? Why do I permit them to check my underneath, suck me underneath, as kid suck the lollipop for fun? Regret is the relic of moonshine love, whereas love is the ashes of despair. Many get the empathetic pleasure to see the ashes of love. What they don’t know ever, I per se rub the ashes to my face. I make fun and laugh with me; gets the pleasure to see me that, yet I’m a dupe and yet puzzled by the despair laughter of life.


I’m a psychedelic clown; tried to live and love this life as like the clown. Each morning I stand in front of the mirror, see my funny face in a mirror, and feel dizzy to discover the notorious clown in the mirror. It felt like that, who is just peeping out to the mirror is not me! He who is somebody, covetous to stay bit more in life, voracious to make some fun with the pain of love, and strolling around to theft the pleasure of love like a comatose clown. Each morning I meet the psychedelic, who is passionate to kiss the moonshine love. I’m not so brave to theft the moonshine. Anyway, I know who I am; and that is, at best a clown in Chaplin’s outfit.


Wait! Don’t laugh to see me. Life is a psychedelic laughter of clowns. They are in everywhere. Clowns peeping underneath everyone’s outfit and they pissed everybody’s mind. The clown is he who never stopped his laugh in a nightmare, who is inept to shut his mouth seeing the shadows of despair, and not sentient to hide the comedia underneath his speck-colored face. Life is a batch of the clownish surname.

Confession of a clown_4_1

Birth is a nickname of hope, is eager to lasting with care and flamboyant desire of passionate love, against all grief and miseries. Aging and death is nicknamed by disease, is greedy to stay here with worm-eaten desire; and is always infected the hope by despair. A clown is he, who picks the forlorn road amid the hopes and despairs; so, don’t laugh to see me in clown’s outfit.


People get amused to see my clownish desire for love. They tumbled to the floor with laughter when I turned my varicolored face to make an impression that, “hi man! I’m serious. Yeah, I’m serious in work, in love, in bedtime lust, in battle and in my ambition of life too”. They tumbled in laughter to see me serious, feeling pity for me to think about the clown’s fortune. Please don’t laugh to think about me. Everybody is laughable in this strange realm of existence, where spiky faces rotting soon, and then traveled like a vagabond in nowhere.

Confession of a clown_1_2

… It felt like that, who is just peeping out to the mirror is not me! He who is somebody, covetous to stay bit more in life, voracious to make some fun with the pain of love, and strolling around to theft the pleasure of love like a comatose clown… Yes, we are strolling here with varicolored serious faces, to needling the cleft of existence with love and grief; as a clown tried to darn his torn clothes, know that soon after it will tear apart for next amusing needling…
… … …

Please, stop your laughter. I know why vagabond is serious than anybody else; and I know how to stroll, how to laugh and when to tune my dotted face to sing the everlasting song of life. Don’t laugh, just listen to the fate all existence, and let sing with me: “I’ll be a vagabond, and it’s my ambition.” Yes, we are strolling here with varicolored serious faces, to needling the cleft of existence with love and grief; as a clown tried to darn his torn clothes, know that soon after it will tear apart for next amusing needling. Don’t laugh to see the patchwork of a clown, because we are all doing this to hide the myriad cracks of despair in our tiny lifetime.


Even though, people laugh to see my restless circus for love and rejection in return. Okay, I never mind when they laugh. I want also that, their giggling face will burst out with guffaw; indeed, I per se like to laugh louder, so that my pompous desire cracked down, and make me simple and naked for life. I want to be naked, since, life is naked. Stay, not only naked, life is the bubbles of recognition against rejection. My psychedelic desire pushed me to obtain the recognition of name fame and love. Even though, every day I discovered me in front of batch rejections; discovered me clownish, seeing me in front of glacial faces, as clowns always see them after rejection.

Confession of a clown_5

… Please, stop your laughter. I know why vagabond is serious than anybody else; and I know how to stroll, how to laugh and when to tune my dotted face to sing the everlasting song of life. Don’t laugh, just listen to the fate all existence, and let sing with me: “I’ll be a vagabond, and it’s my ambition.”…
… … …

Stay, life is bubbling bottle of rejection, to sip the bubbles of despair, and to make some fun with the joking name fame and love at the end. I know I’m a clown, misfit for attraction and recognition. What I can do is, strolling for love in every place, knocking neighbor’s door to get some love in return of my clownish huckster.

What I dream always, bursting out with laughter, and in front of them who always whimper for recognition. They seated in the furnished chambers with a lot of dotted ambition, seated there with grumpy and cloudiest despair that they cannot able to laugh, incapable of saving them from the terror of despair.

… It felt like that, who is just peeping out to the mirror is not me! He who is somebody, covetous to stay bit more in life, voracious to make some fun with the pain of love, and strolling around to theft the pleasure of love like a comatose clown…

Confession of a clown_3

Photo Credit: Palhaço (Clown): Pinterest; Pinterest: Clown paintings; tumblr: Clown: The Story of Addiction; Telex: Chaplin Gif; Jim Morison Quote: iz quotes; Tumblr: Creepy: Clown: Why do people hate clowns?;
Advertisements