i learnt a method of madness in never speaking. when
they ask me, how are you. i smile. i am slow flower.

people will listen to you, if you are silence tied to
thousand stories. you keep them to yourself at time.

there is certain sigh in silence. i learnt to drink mine,
when the curiosity killed their cat. i am slow bird.

uncertain times in summer, the body is a vacuum.
we are water above the room temperature. i am lakes
that burn hands. some fishes don't even run deep.

when people ask me, how are you. i tell them i sell
smiles, if they'll sell a painting to me.

there is fire if you build a hearth. some people were
terribly vexed. i am elevator that stops at ninth floor,
when you wanted out at second.

there is quiet in madness. it will never speak to you
again, if you try and sell it mona lisa.

da vinci painted some madness, some softness at
tongue. so soft, no voice ever speaks.