ONE guy, wearing an
expensive black suit and
a pair of shiny black pants
with matching glossy
black shoes, thinks that
serious matters
need not be mocked
and that there is no place
for something funny.
I guess he is a lawyer
about to appear in
a court of law and
he is about to defend
a multimillion
damage suit.
His face is grim.
His hands are made of
brains.
His bones are
titanium.
His brains are Apple
computers.
I am having fun.
I am laughing hard.
I am dancing the boogie.
And he detests me.
To him i am
Mediocre. Society discards me
for i am not serious
in solving
problems and
chaos.
I ask him to fly away.
Geeeee, he can't.
But i kept my mouth shut.
I ask, Is he Mad?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem