By Debdatta Bajpai
It’s not the madness that has made me.
It’s I who have made this madness.
It’s a poem that has lost its voice.
It’s a passion that has forgotten urge.
It’s the pain that has lost its rage.
It is everything giving up its essence.
It is when it is the only possibility.
This madness is the dance of my incompleteness in me.
It is the least of me that is mostly acceptable.
It is the most of me that accepts least.
It is how I fly through the walls.
It is what keeps me alive within.
It’s what none wants to touch upon.
It’s what some love about me.
This madness is what I have made of this world.
Not what the world has made of me.
By Debdatta Bajpai
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