A mad man comes staggering,
Sits under the streetlight,
As some holes appeared
In the blanket of darkness.

The streetlight, it seemed, was his ‘bodhi’
For it was where he learned life
With on-lookers passing by grinning
And they said “it is mad”.

They were true to comment on him so
For he was mad in the general sense
But he kept a man inside
A mind inside.

The man thought he was safe
Because laws were forbidden in his kingdom
Always he made his own laws,
His own enemies.

He was the king
In the country of prophets
And the prophets were fortunate
For they knew he was the wisest.