I dedicate this poem to all the mad and insane people worldwide.
I was touched recently when I saw a mad woman who was crippled and could hardly tour the town in search of food.
She sits at the thesame spot from dusk to dawn, whatever weather-cold or warm, rainy or sunny.
My poem SHE IS SANE is a poem of hope for the mad people, trying to let them know that their suffering and insanity is just temporarily. No one lives forever, they might be insane in this phase of life but the other phase of life "they shall be sane" like the every other person once again.
SHE IS SANE
On the busy street of the city
There she lies,
Her sight judge my guilty heart
Always I ponder if
She is the sinner most greatest
Nothing but her saliva may she taste
As dawn chameleon to dusk
Her reasoning weird, no hope nor fate
The only remedy, her life could cost
On the cold night
The street she lies
Her skin drenched, her head in twilight
Invincible her maker is, him none ask why
When the heavens pour down
Its oven, the sanes hide under their shades
But on the street she rest her head
Oh! Her sins most abominable?
Her kitchen is the bin
From the Spirogyra bread she's feeding
She tour to and fro, to and fro the city
The end I await, the dead she's living
Her sight, I recompense, warm tears
Courage she gave me, death not my greatest fear
She has died, and shall die again
Rejoice! Her second death, sane she will again.
©ONAH DE GREAT
