The last laugh

I was happy

just yesterday,

grinning like a fool

at all that I saw

and felt.

Cheeks taut,

teeth drawn out,

I was a positive symbol of

hysteric fright

if one knew not

of my supercilious joy.

I brought my palms together

in rapid succession

beating them,

till they were red

with mirth.

The pink flesh is still sore

with joy.

I pranced on my toes -

a mechanical rabbit

without an off switch;

jumping up and down

in utter revelry.

I was the perverse clown

at an unhinged toddler's

survival celebration.

My feet feel strange now

that I take measured steps.

And yet,

you berate me today;

as I sit silent

in a corner

with an expression

devoid of proclamation,

in the silence

that contemplative reverie begets.

My hands lay comatose,

pink slowly reverting to pale,

my cheeks have finally stopped hurting,

my teeth are wet again

with the fetal blanket of my mouth.

My feet rest in perfect symmetry with the ground.

And yet

you'd prefer the lewd fool,

to the pensive human.

Just so you can escape

your ruminations or lack thereof

in my appropriately exhibited joy.

Or maybe so you can contemptuously ponder

over your suffering

in the face of my frivolous folly;

and feel the sweet burden of fate

dwell on your shoulders

in castles constructed of other's mirth.

Why would you rather have me

laugh in rhythmic folly,

than be solemn in

asymmetrical words?

Maybe

You cannot accept

the not-knowing of my reticence

and worse,

not being the reason why.

Maybe

You want

to see yourself

rendered immortal in suffering

by my laughter.

Oh you!

I'll laugh raucously again,

but in surreptitious contempt,

knowing what false promise

this laughter will beget within you.

I'll laugh;

till you

smile in self-immolation;

and then,

without preamble,

or warning lest you may prepare,

I will stop.

And then,

I will have the last laugh.

Image courtesy: The Guardian: On facial expressions and evolution.

Would you rather share in someone's laughter or someone's truth? The answer seems simple to most of us, especially those that seek the teat of idealism - "truth". But in reality, this answer is farthest away from the truth as could be.

We want to share in your truth but not the gore of it, only the kinds you can tell us with a smile on your face and a twinkle in your voice. We want to hear of your suffering but only in stories that show us courage. We want to wipe your tears but only when the tears are caused by empathy or mirth. We want to lick your bare soul but only when the soul is stripped of its skin and dressed up in a fashionable hue. We may even want to devour your pain when it is expressed in an art form that lends dignity to our apparent depth of empathetic understanding.

But on a more regular day, just give us a little laughter, and some breezy comments so we forget our humanity and revel in our animalistic simplicity. And later, we can tell ourselves that you have it easy, and we have it tough and feel a little better about the pain we bear in apparent stoic sensibility. If you remind us of our humanity, we will blame you, judge you and maybe even cast you away as a "human". So remember to keep laughing, so we can have the last laugh.

The prose today looks at the societal standards of a regular human interaction and the cyclical perpetuity of shared mirth and hidden ruminations. Here's to a Sunday where you're comfortable enough to not seek the last laugh.

Happy Sunday!