LUNATIC

A Poem by Shweta Sunil

I opened the crusty gates--
They creaked like it hadn't been revealed,
In ages.
One step in,
Heard the world behind me caving in.

Two steps,and joy crept,
I met that cripple they often called a-
Lunatic.
He warned me,he scowled,
Stated to me,
‘Twas danger in!
It's the world to enjoy,to stay within.
But you are not permitted,
For they call you a lunatic.

I cried glory!
A new world was seen.
Danced in circles,
With the flying men.
Ran my fingers through the dusty saucers,
And the antique cups.
I don't think this place had seen--
Any man in many years.

Forests enchanted,
Peace and strife,
As the wind bristled my hair to spines.
Petrichor of clay persistent,
I stared into the dark above--
As though the psithurism of the trees,
Played my dearest composition.

A huge noise,
It dragged me farther.
The symphonies strategically substituted--
With clunking vessels,
The sweet petrichor was replaced,
A waft of smoke.

And I heard a voice say,
You are but a child!
You are not to dream,but to listen.
Should you not be lost in thoughts,
When you are to be lost in books.
You are but a child!
The sore,dried up pulp of tomorrow
You rather not dream of more,
For they would brand you for eternity,
As nothing but, a
Lunatic.