There’s a strange twinkle in his eyes,
A mischief in his smile.
He’s a concoction
Of astounding absurdities.
An oddity.
A lazy delusion.
He wants to talk
And unlike most of us,
he wants to talk sense.
Of poets and writers.
Quotes them out of his miserable memory.
Of governments and tyrants,
Sieges and miseries,
Histories and geographies,
Inventions and discoveries,
Art and expressions.
He’s a universe of his own.
An anomaly in the chaotic order
Of the universe.
A splash of red paint.
A mistake,
that you wish you could make.



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