Taroka: Weaving Words, Melodies, and Emotions into Timeless Tales

In the hush of twilight's dimming play,
Once danced my laughter, wild and free,
A fool's parade in bright array,
Where jeers were cloaked in jollity.

I laughed till tears would grace my cheeks,
A madman's cackle in the wind,
But jests turned cruel, as bullies seek
To mock the joy they cannot find.

I walked, oh how I walked the miles,
A ceaseless march, no hand in mine,
My pace outstripped their lagging styles,
Alone, I crossed life's serpentine.

The road, it whispered secrets, low,
Of destinations I would never know,
For every step was met with stone,
And every stone, a sigh, a groan.

I toiled in sun's relentless blaze,

No silver weight to crown my hands,
I gave my hours, my nights, my days,
And built their castles in the sands.

They took my sweat, my soul's fair wage,

And laughed as they would turn the page,
For I, the drudge, in kindness' guise,
Was naught but joke in their cold eyes.

Now dusk descends, and with it, night,

Beside my door, I take my rest,
A figure drawn in fading light,
A shadow of what I once professed.

In this quiet eve, I sit and muse,

Dark-skinned, worn, with naught to lose,
My cottage torn, by time's cruel hand,
A silent testament, a no man's land.

Where is the laughter, jubilant, wild?
The stride, the purpose, of the child?
Gone with the wind, through the open door,
A man sits silent, forevermore.