ON ENCOUNTERING A "MADMAN" SITTING AT THE BUS STOP

There he sat;

Dwelling in the inner

Sanctum of his distorted mind;

Threading on the thresholds of illusions;

Dissecting cold realities as

He watched passer-bys, giggling and pointing.

There he sat---watching

Their faces convulsed with peculiar expressions;

Silently conjuring

Deep hidden questions---bleeding pain:

But for the grace of God, could he be

The father they never knew or the brother

They never met?

Then, by the grace of God,

Their eyes suddenly collided with his;

In reflected fear, they turned away their stares:

Passing onward, cocooned in their facades.