Monday, February 27, 2012

Day 59/366

I once met a poetic madman,
Who gives away kisses of smoke,
Floating with the wind like a leaf,
His intriguing thoughts flow.

He dreams of a sufi and a killer
Having conversations in the hills.
As he talks or writes or contemplates,
Down my spine his words send a chill.

The middle fish in the deep sea of the mind,
Is what he wants to catch.
To use its juice and create something from it,
Just a moment perhaps.

That strange looking boy,
With his childlike charm,
He treated them well,
Till they raised the alarm.

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