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An intense and evocative poem about a mad woman in a sane world, exclusively for Different Truths.

In a world deemed as being sane
The mad one stopped her stride
And stared at the rest of the inhabitants!

Bent they were on finding their relief
In that which mattered not
In that which shall never do!

Bent they were on saving their material belongings
Bent they were on beautifying their bodies
When, everything, in the very end,
Turns into remnants of the ghosts of dusts,
Made of fickleness and frugality!

In this world deemed as being sane
The mad one chose to stop walking her path
She chose to wait for when the sun would set
She spun yarns long enough to reach the moon
She danced to melancholic beats at the fall of the night
She talked to stars
And to her own self
At how crucial it was for her
To remain mad,
In this world, deemed as being sane!

The sane world, though, kept revolving on itself
Laughing at its sins
Relishing its impurity
Finding joy and wonder in its own putridity!

The mad one looked at it all as it rolled across her gaze
Her eyelids flickered not
Her breath faltered not
Yet, her heart writhed with pain at it all
As she wondered
At how she had come to be fallen in this world!

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