Dialogue

Harlequin:
...Without a centime I am well off
and unconcerned like a male-bee:
appealing garb all made of patches,
a smile to open any latches.
Frivolous days, my dainty fellow,
flow as a stream of pure glee.

Pierrot:
Delights are ephemeral, my cheerful friend,
and I turn them down with icy contempt.
What is here to relish in this vale of woe
where verses are noble yet motives are low?
My soul is poisoned, my wounds never mend,
no good can entice me, no evil can tempt.

Harlequin:
This malady is no surprise when
one's thoughts are always so grave.
Forget! Allow your heart some leisure!
Seek out passion and pleasure
reveling in the southern sunshine
that will embrace you like a wave.

Pierrot:
The northern wind chases an autumnal leaf
like sorrow that never lets go of my hand.
My life is a remnant of yesterday's storm -
despondent and feeble, insultingly warm.
My garden succumbed to the willows of grief,
the thistle of anguish surrounds my land.

Harlequin:
Oh, anguish! That one time it found me
when I had dined at some cheap inn
on putrid fish. What a disaster!
So your melancholia must be
not an eternal sign of grandeur
as you incline yourself to think.

Pierrot:
You find it amusing, my ragged buffoon,
to confuse dirty dishes with pure intent?
My every confession you turn to a lie -
the audience welcomes the brave and the sly.
Your Sun outshines my contemplative Moon,
withered words fall in vain...

Harlequin:
...yet together we stand.
What was it all about though?
I can't recall...

01.09.07