I once saw a mad man in the bin,
Looking satisfied, worrying not for what to eat.
He treated himself to delicacies,
Leftovers and junk that littered the bin.

He worried not about clothes,
Shoes or chains of gold.
Not bothered about setting goals
Or storing up cash in treasure troves.

He pays no rent,
The sky is the roof over his head
The cold wind his blanket
Under the bridge, his apartment.

His feet take him where cars can,

So he bothers not, if fuel is scarce.
Not pressured by relatives
No expectations from society.

Contentment he finds in his squalor.
So he worries not about work.
Does not have to impress any boss
For the pay cheque every month.

So in awe I asked,
Oh mad man, how can you be this relaxed?
He turned to me and smiled
Saying, son, this is the secret of life

Worry not about the morrow,
It may bring fortune or sorrow
Discover you own road,
Even if it means standing alone

They call me a mad man,
But at least I'm not a rat,
Running a blind race,
Just to keep up the pace

For naked we came, so we leave
At 6ft, your treasures go to the wind
Alas! The world fails to see
The sanity in my insanity.

A Chika Craft Publication; 2012

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