The Strawberry Coloured Tent

Dazzled by the burning bulbs,
burghers, beggars, and kids of all ages
walked hastly and swiftly
passing by the beasts within the cages.

as the doors opened, they entered
into the strawberry Coloured tent
to bear witness to the blissed event,
to the show, and its dreadful feats.

Meanwhile, a figure was flying up high
tearing with his broad wings
through the clouds of the night sky.
Legend of the West was his name.

A gentle whisper, lingered in his ears,
has guided him in his endless journey
from the deserts of Arabia
to the forested hills of Romania.

Like a winter snowflake,
his feet touched the ground
of the silent alleys of Helvetia,
determined to cleanse it from the evil
of the lurking demon.

A showman with a golden cane,
lifting the red curtain on the show of dreams,
and a traveller with a blade made of steel
standing alone in the cobblestone street.

As the magician stood on the wooden stage
with his wand beckoning the pupils,
a hissing echo was luring the visitor,
challenging him to yet another duel.

Tapping gently his black top hat
and approaching the window with shattered glass,
a savage beast emerged from the depths
and a white furry bunny jumped on the stand.

With a swift hand,
one was playing with his cards
And one was dodging the deadly fangs.

When the chase began
on the red tiled rooftops,
acrobats pulled their famous stunt.
Shooting stars flying freely in the air.

As spectators watched with excitement
the dance of elf,
the lonely moon peeked shyly,
witnessing the dance of death.

The Strawberry Coloured Tent was
no stranger to love and beauty,
neither to steel and claw clashing
under the strawberry coloured fireworks
with an indescribable brutality.

The thunderous applause,
inside the lantern-lit tent,
has silenced chaos and mayhem
near the strawberry coloured tent.

Bathing in dark blood
and out of breath,
the showman appeared from behind the curtain.
Of the audience warm welcome he was certain.

Victorious they were both.
Yet, one will live under the spotlight of fame
while the other will remain in the shadow
of myth and shame.

Rivers running down their cheeks,
one from eyes screaming with joy
whilst the other screaming of regret and pain.

Realizing his journey
from over was far,
he rested above the crowd.
A red rose was dangling in his hand.

A lady in a white dress
was dancing to the melody
of the delicate sugar fairy
in the strawberry coloured tent.

A red rose has fallen on the stage,
the remainder of a mysterious figure
once called Legend of the West.

Yasser Chokri