In a pack of cards,
There are aces, kings, queens and the jacks.
But then there’s one,
Who always drew his fancy,
Belongs to nobody,Master of his will,
Gaps and voids are his to fill,
The need of the game,
The smiling face,
Summoned just for a phase,
If life was a game,
Then he is certainly the joker.
Running in and out of lives,
Not by will,
Everyone writes their bit,
Then passes on this quill.
And yet he’s happy,
Being tossed around,
Just at the thought that they need him,
Foolish he is, kiddish, immature,
They just remember him,
When they are out of others,
Or when they have a plan,
And he gladly falls in their hands,
And obeys their command.
His smile never leaves his face,
Or is it his mask,
He wouldn’t let it, even if he can,
After all, you never know the plight os a laughing man.
Not that it bothers him,
He is used to be not a part,
To be kept aside,waiting to be called,
A simple gesture, a touch,
Brightens his day,
His job for the game is done.
And whatever the flaws ,the blames,
They can always say,
“joker was a waste, all lame
He never came”.
Well, he was always there,
On him your hands never laid.
Then the players leave,
Pack shuffled, new game begins,
And sumone in need calls for him,
The silly, simple, smiling, joker...