Postmodern Madness

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?