There
is no one madness
There
are madnesses within me
Seething
one after another
Impossible
to reduce to one pathology
Or
to a diagnosis one could cure
I
nurture my madnesses
Like
the symphonies of a musician
Whose
hearing is gone
You
don’t understand me
If
you know me in one form
I
take random forms
Like
the shapes of the river
Flowing
from Himalayas
There
are days
When
my madness catches the fancy
Of
an old song
I
play it on loop obsessively
As
if to add something more to it
A
single note missing from it
A
half breath forgotten by its composer
There
are nights
When
I cry inconsolably
Without
any obvious reason(s)
Just
for the sheer pleasure of crying
I
miss my tears almost every night
Some
days I lie in my bed endlessly
Like
a Zombie possessed with nothingness
Thinking
about nothing and everything
Like
my mind is the last venue
For
God and His angels to meet
To
decide the fate of this apocalyptic world
There
are days and nights too
When
insanities turn ugly
I
hate everything about myself then
I
hate everything about this world
In
the hissing pangs of hatred
I
become an Island
Nobody
could reach
Some
madnesses are frighteningly lonely
You
are my wildest madness
Madness
gilded in terrifying passion
Like
the totem of a last true religion
Which
can only be practiced piously
If
one defies it all the time
You’re
my madness in resistance
I
don’t have a single madness
What
madness is that madness
That
doesn’t have thousand heads?
