Reflection on the madness

Gene Miles was mad. Wasn’t she? She was seen wandering the streets, seemingly drunk, and rumoured to be mad. But she was mad. Right? Mad to challenge the authorities of the time for whatever her personal reasons. And so she earned her title. You are mad. And she was told enough times that she may actually have begun to believe it. Madness. Imagine people can have that great of an authority that they can pronounce you mad, and everyone believes it, including you. Now that is mad.

Fiesta de locos

The pale yellow wallpaper peels off the wall,
And reveals that there was indeed no lady,
Crawling around in there at all!
But you were so sure, so very sure,
That to uncover her would be your cure.

You are now not quite sure of yourself,
Are you stupid? Blind? Deaf?
Then it must be your imagination
Or a pathetic demonstration through your supplication
That you and your generation, are compulsive seekers of attention.

All these things have gone terribly wrong,
And you have witnessed it all the while,
All along,
To be told that you are simply too high strung,
These things in your brain have all been wrung,
From a witless, hapless, and effortless style,
Of doing everything that contributes to nothing.
All this time I have been doing nothing?
What a thing…
The underhanded dreamer,
Because of your demeanour,
Will be charged by a deceiver,
He is the accuser, you are the receiver.
But I have done all that was expected,
Along with that which I hadn’t elected,
Because a dream was projected.
I thought it was our dream.
But it was my dream.
And as I complete my team
I suppose I go down
As we dismount the scene.
Everyone leaving, masks off.
And I remain.
Have I gone off?

Louella Mahabir
8th. November, 2014


~ by louella001 on November 9, 2014.

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