The Madman Poem by Puskar Sikdar

A fragment of a monsoon conversation
Unlocked the old, rusted window of his mind;
Entwined in cobwebs and layers of dust,
Now trembling in the rain, restless and unkind.

He had promised that unknown dream
To hold it tight within memory's embrace;
Yet, countless worthless tears had fallen—
And he raged, asking, "Will you still remember my face? "

The tender scent of fresh lemon leaves,
Once soothing his soul with its gentle charm,
Now led him down a strange new path—
A road that left his heart scarred and harmed.

Clouds whispered to him, summoning death,
Lightning flashed, and he cowered in fear;
Yet, in the silence of his lunacy,
A fading hope still held him near.

But do you know where that despairing mind is now...?
There, peeking from a hospital window—
Surrendering itself to a therapist's words,
Yet unable to reach out and truly let go.

Strange,
That madman's pen once longed to halt,
Yet habits of a restless mind refused to fade;
Just like a guava tree shedding its bark,
The window of memories closed once again,
And a wandering tale was left unsaid.

Even without shelter in his beloved's shadow,
He carved a space for her in his soul;
Like words chosen without rhyme or reason,
They recognized each other, despite the pain's control.

Touched by time, his beloved changed,
And that weary, locked-up diary
Found its way back—
To its old familiar desk, unchanged.