I saw beauty last evening,
I saw a mad woman, last evening,
I looked in the face of lunacy
and I found beauty there!

She stood alone but all content,
and stared at all, who passed her by,
I saw them smirk, who looked at her,
and found her laughing back at them.

There was a smile all over her,
that garbed her in splendour rare,
though she was dressed in tattered rags,
and unwashed perhaps for days!

And as I too, alone, passed her by,
I heard her laughter, and saw her smile,
and the look of mockery on others’ faces,
and wondered which of us was mad?
Those who live an ordered life, so called,
and thereby thought to be sane!
or the ones, like this woman,
who roam so free
and laugh at all, who push them away?

Oblivious of whom she impressed and how;
uncaring of who saw her in her tattered form,
undaunted, by what others said and mocked,
content with herself, enough to laugh at all!

I saw beauty last evening in life’s joke,
where it made the mad free
and got the careworn and fettered souls
to mock at them, because they were insane!

And the thought stuck in my mind,
‘to be mad is to be free’ it said,
and I wondered how free I was?
and what it would take, for me to be ‘free’?