To My Friend The Artist - Poem by Tolu Akinwole
How you hate that word!
But are we not mad -
Mad like the he-goat
That slept with his mother?
You are mad,
I am mad,
We are all mad -
Mad like that farmer
That stole another's sweat.
But we needn't deny it,
God knows we are mad
Both of us, yes, we are;
Our instruments make us so.
And don't we build worlds with them?
Mad we are and let's be mad;
It's excellent just to be mad -
Not like the farmer, nor like the he-goat,
But like the sharp teeth that bites the tongue.
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