The Mark Of A Fool Poem by Kali Kaivalya

THE SILENCE OF THE WISE


There comes an hour in every age when wisdom retreats and folly ascends the throne.

In such times, the unwise grow loud — mistaking cleverness for insight and pride for strength.

Words multiply, but meaning decays; knowledge swells, yet understanding withers.

The fool, unaware of his ignorance, stands confidently in his error while the world, misled by superficial shine, crowns him as wise.

The few who still seek truth walk unseen, their voices drowned beneath the clamour of self-proclaimed sages.

For it is the nature of folly to grow bold in the absence of correction and the nature of pride to mistake its own shadow for the sun.

Alas, where have the wise vanished?
Their absence is the quiet herald of calamity.

And when fools rule the day, the fall of night is never far behind.



THE FOOL'S MIRROR


A fool — mere shadow, sense betrayed,

Stumbles blind where thoughts denied.

In endless loops, his steps replayed,

By whispers lured, by pride misled.



Yet some take flight on borrowed wings,

Their egos crowned in hollow might.

In self-made springs, the vainglory sings,

And names their folly sovereign right.



Five scars mark out the fool's parade:

Pride that blinds, and words that sting,

The blaze of wrath, debates decayed,

And truths dismissed by scorn's sharp fling.



The world's grand stage is thick with fools,

While wisdom's spark is thin, constrained.

They shun all counsel, cling to rules,

And bind themselves in self-proclaimed.



Sermons fall like rain on stone,

No glint of light their hearts redeem.

Like coal, they lie, unloved, alone —

No soap can cleanse a dreamer's dream.



What shields the wise from folly's snare?

Can words unbind what stone has sealed?

Even the wise, when pride lays bare,

May fall, unheeding, from the field.



Critical thought — a sacred art:

To weigh, to question, to refine.

To open the mind, unchain the heart,

And read life's riddle, line by line.



A fool who glimpses his own disguise

Has touched, at last, wisdom's seed.

But he who boasts a sage's guise

Is yoked forever to folly's creed.



Truth slips the fool's unsteady clasp.

No kinship dwells in shadow's keep.

He frets for sons, for wealth, for grasp,

While self, unheeded, lies asleep.



Though wise men walk by fool's side,

A lifetime's counsel stirs no change.

Like spoons that stir but never taste,

The flavor lies beyond their range.



Fools covet thrones they never earn,

Crave homage, rank, and hollow praise.

Their deeds, like thorns, make loved hearts burn,

And bitterness crowns all their days.



They scorn, they curse, they falsely cry,

Yet chance may steer them right.

But rumors thrive beneath their sky,

And fools mistake the smoke for light.



So sure, so bold, their voices ring,

A hollow hymn of self-conceit.

They mimic sages, while folly clings,

And mock the minds where truths should meet.



One truth alone divides the two:

To know the Real — or dream in schemes.

The wise seek Light, the fool his view,

A fleeting spark that never gleams.





CLOSING REFLECTION


The world does not fall to ruin by the strength of fools but by the silence of the wise.

When wisdom withdraws, folly is left to shape the world in its likeness — blind, proud, and unyielding.

The difference between ruin and renewal lies in one simple act: the willingness to question oneself.

The fool refuses and so stumbles forever in the dark.

The wise start there and are gradually led — step by step — toward the light.

May we all find the courage to look into the mirror and recognize the face staring back.

Only then does the path of wisdom truly begin.