Mad: 4 - Poem by Sayeed Abubakar
Sometimes he cannot recognize himself.
He cannot recognize his own hands, own legs, own body,
even his own voice. It seems to him that he is an alien,
a man of different language who has been haunting him
for twenty four hours like a shadow.
Sometimes he calls himself by his own name.
It seems to him that thousand years have already passed.
Has his corpse been rotten then, or has he himself
been a mummy? Is he in a dwelling house or in a museum?
All on a sudden, he shouted loudly saying 'Thief! Thief! '
Saying 'Police! Police! ', he caught red-handed
his one hand by the other hand and said to himself, 'Who are you
at this inopportune moment here? ' And instantly he releases
that hand, nobody knows why, getting afraid very much.
Comments about Mad: 4 by Sayeed Abubakar
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You