Listen, sir, listen to what this madman says! My heart is terribly heavy, You know why? The heart has no grammar, So it breaks its chains and comes outside screaming—to hell with everything! I accept nothing! If this is madness, then let me be mad!
Don't laugh now, good sir! Who isn't mad, tell me, hmm...! I see some mad for the body, others for the mind! Everyone's mad—each in their own way! When hungry, the mad one says, I'll swallow everything—I am a whirlwind!
That evening suddenly I saw, my girlfriend snapped and said, I want that gown! Father says, dear, a little patience... She immediately throws her precious phone at the wall—father now has double expenses! Fashion-mad! You understand, sir!
Those coaching teachers—so busy, so busy—they find no time at all! Morning half-fed, noon unfed—heavy in the papers—they eat money, not rice. The street beggar extends his hand for money, when they get money, they eat rice... I see the teachers and think, alas, they throw away rice and eat money! What is a madman's hunger, does a madman understand so much?
Sharmi is sleepless—weeps day and night, someone has gone away, leaving behind memory's ashes! They come and go, having gone they remain even more— in dreams or waking, in truth or lies, in fullness or emptiness, in sin or virtue!
Life's many songs, many melodies, many hopes, everything stolen by—hideous love! Dying while living—this too is called love! Sharmi lives on—to die. Her body crumbles—no sleep... Whatever happens, let it!—still she wants love!
Those who come to stay, stay. Those who come to leave, leave. Those who come only to go, it's good when they leave! Those who come to stay, it's good to hold them close! Understanding everything, who listens!—what else can you do, when you're mad!
My friend came first, yet he weeps. You know why? Because he didn't get four out of four! He's mad, isn't he, tell me? Look into his eyes, black holes—that's what I call them, Dream Blackholes—my invention!
Wilted flowers aren't all worthless, the darkness that paints a hundred devotions' share, it's never blamed—for it's the mark of dreams! Look at me! A lonely scarecrow—utterly mad! I only burn—it doesn't feel true that I'm really mad!
But I'm not a cat that gets a little affection... and immediately wags its tail. Purrs softly, and says with a smile, feels good, I want some more!
This heart may be mad, know this, but it's no beggar! You'll keep kicking me, yet I'll plead with you in pitiful tones, clutch those two feet, with tearful eyes beg for love and affection— never think such thoughts! Is love charity, tell me, that I must beg for it?
If you can't love me from your heart, I won't be able to put kohl in these eyes, these soft lips I won't be able to redden with rouge's intoxication, know this, love that nests and settles will never kill even a bit of the fine brain's nerves— Tell me, does a crow fear darkness anymore? Buying infinite separation I've learned to recognize all the nets, can anyone have the power to bind a madman in deception's trap?