The Mad

The mad have no caste nor religion.They transcend gender, live outside ideologies. We do not deserve their innocence. Their language is not of dreams but of another reality.Their love is moonlight.It overflows on the full moon day. Looking up they see gods we have never heard of.They are shaking their wings when we fancy they are shrugging their shoulders.They hold even flies have souls and the green god of grasshoppers leaps up on thin legs. At times they see trees bleed,hear lions roaring from the streets.At times they watch Heaven gleaming in a kitten's eyes,just as we do. But they alone can hear ants sing in a chorus. While patting the air they are taming a cyclone over the Mediteranean.With their heavy tread,they stop a volcano from erupting. They have another measure of time.Our century is their second.Twenty seconds, and they reach Christ; six more, they are with the Buddha. In a single day,they reach the big bang at the beginning. They go on walkng restless for, their earth is boiling still. The mad are not mad like us.