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
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