The Mad Man

Bruised and battered he gathered his being and slid to a side of the footpath to make room for the passerby and slipped into his dreams. Those who frowned upon a drunken sloth lying by roadside failed to see the utter calmness on his face. They could not hear the silence which screamed in joy, through the chaos of civilized and orderly world. Every voluntary and non voluntary gesture of their was meant to demean him, loath him. They cursed him, kicked him but not a single hand to reach him. While the sane people of orderly world insanely ran through their chaotic life, in early hours of day, he comfortably lived his lucid dream. He lied there while everyone ran in a mad rush; cars and buses honked, bike slid past toe nails, sweat ran down the temple, shoulder brushed, abuses hurled and people ran, they ran because that is what they were supposed to do. And all this while in his world the sun shone, the wind blew past his mane, birds perched on pavement, a squirrel ran down the tree to pick a nut which slid past the finger of a little girl sitting in a bus buried under a ton weight of her school bag. She did notice neither the bird nor squirrel. From side of his half open eyes he looked further, an ant passed his vision carrying a cube of sugar, and he could bet he had seen her smiling. He heard the bell of a temple tolling in a distance; he picked the scent of perfume of a passerby; everything around seem to made to please him. A kick and a volley of abuses by a Socrates who ran past him distract him a little before he slipped back into his lucid dreams, unaffected of the chaos that was building around him. Somehow he had averted it from growing on him. He slept there on the footpath while quite morning grew into chaotic day, he slept in peace; he was the Mad Man.