Can Someone Be Really So Strange? Poem by Chandrani Dutta Das

Can someone be really so strange?
The more I look at him, I feel,
nothing I know.

His interests are like volcanoes —
just a while ago, silent,
and suddenly they grow,
and erupt and flow
wild to where it goes,
then just cools down
and goes to sleep for an unknown time
of dormancy.

He woke up one fine morning saying,
'I wish to paint a picture,
beautiful, that would be loved for ages to come,
with all the hues the earth holds
and also the hues under the sun.'

And went out to buy
paper, pencil, brushes and colours.

And when he is back,
he looks sad, saying,
'I just bought things I need no more.'

And suddenly would say,
'I feel like making a sweater today, '
and would set out to buy
yarn of every colour available.