A poetic reflection on leadership, chaos and hope.
The Pristine Ring Master
People gathered to witness the world’s oldest circus.
At first, performers like fire breathers and jugglers brought delight,
Aerialists — trapeze artists and acrobats — amazed the little ones with their flights.
But soon, the strongman gave a stern look to the tightrope walker.
The magician tried to douse the fire breather’s flame.
The clowns — once beloved — entered the ring,
And played the worst trumpet known to fame.
Their friendly tussle turned too real,
Peace, to them, was an unfunny deal.
As with world leaders who, too, reject stillness,
Addicted to noise, chaos, and the ringing of cash registers.
Amid the uproar, the absence of the Ring Master was deeply felt.
A cry rose from the crowd — where was he?
Behind the dark curtains, a shadow stirred,
And from it emerged the Ring Master, finally.
With a whip crack and silent grace,
Even the furious clowns froze in place.
Normalcy returned, laughter regained,
Children smiled — joy unchained.
This world needs such a Ring Master —
Pristine, pure, free from greed or disaster.
This Ring Master has to crack his whip loudly,
To stop a few clowns from turning the stage into a war,
To bring back the giggle, the wonder, the roar.
Let the Ring Master rise — not for power or praise,
But to restore happiness in a world gone ablaze.
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