His cheerfulness bore the cost

Of a profound fatalism,

Wrote Alfred Einstein, in his book

Mozart.  His Character, His Work.


Thus it is, I think now,

For the best of human beings in the world,

As life cannot satisfy many,

It is too hard, too cruel


For anything but stoical fatalism.

But to accept that without resentment,

Without self-pity or anger!

That is the great secret, and many know it


In South America.  They smile and enjoy

What there is.  Suffer no illusions

About miracles changing everything

In their lives.  Just live.




As if I had fallen into a sea of honey

Where you did not need even to swim

To keep afloat.  Love so soft

Penetrating your being in stars of flight,

Perfumes of paradise entering your skin,

Beautiful breezes into your soul.




Now Bosh, he thought everyone loved

His style:  “We are all Americans now!”

But some did not agree, they felt

They were from Brazil, or Paraguay,

Or Singapore, or Timbuktu;

So when he wagged his lovely finger

They did not wish to suck it;

But nevertheless he egged on a world

That did not feel he was a giant,

And others did not like at all

The way he quickly got-out-of-there,

And sent his jets with all his millions

To drop bombs on children afar.

But Bosh was such a brave young man

He threw a baseball ball,

And that he thought, was all he needed

To do, to gather fame.

He jerked his arm, and tossed the ball,

So valiently he did it,

All the children in Palestine

Adored to see him do it!

He was so brave, he cocked a snook

At Binny Lad, his friend,

And then they danced right by a canyon,

But noone knows yet if they fell

Plungingly into the abyss:

We all still wait and pray!


Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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