Tribute To a Lunatic

A songbird dances on a power line;? a man in white at a market square sings, swings, ears to a distant drum—? a tuneful hum from a frenetic world. Peace beams out of a warm face— ?beauty of a world not mine— sees?pink roses, lush hyacinths; rainbow ?hangs low from the blue, defying the whirl of stormy wind. He soaks dew-drops and dumb patter-patter. Yet, before me: a kinky weather,? wavering stocks, grating headlines? of bombs and booms and doom; flying shrapnels whiz overhead. Screams and screwed up faces of a distraught race in chains, in culture that labels the man a crank, unhinged from reality. No, in white he is sane and free as the little bird on the power line; ?as a preening bird about to roost; as a rooster roaring the dawn. He sings from deep recesses of a true life wired to a source, ?detached from the market square. © 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi