In madness

Every night
I waited for poetry
in my bed,
eyes not blinking.
But she never came
with her
hair let loose.

She didn’t come
when I needed her the most.
Insomniac nights,
madness and existential crisis-
she missed all the big events
of my life.

But then she came uninvited
in the most inappropriate times
in the fear of confessing someone
that I loved or cared,
in our final farewells,
in the kiss of goodbyes,
in the flower wreaths of death,
in the chaos of my job,
in the hopelessness of my dreams.

I tell her
“desire is the cause of my sorrow”,
like Buddha once did.
She laughs,
“desire is what carves me out
from the sand dunes of your life.”

“I can’t fit into molds,
i fall flat,
i know not how to live”,
I complain.
“If you did
you wouldn’t have found me”,
she teases.

“So how long will we keep meeting like this,
in these fraction of seconds,
is that all we will ever have?”
“I will be there in all the dark moments
you can’t survive on your own,
I will be there in your love, pain and misfortunes.”

“But not in my madness?”,
I ask frustrated.

“No, not in your madness.
In madness there is poetry and music and rhythm.
In madness there is universe and stars and heavens.
In madness you have everything you need.
In madness you are free.
You don’t need me in your madness,
‘Coz in your madness
you are me,
at my best.”