Let the world say that I am mad,

Or let me allow saying that the world is mad,

For I don’t seem to understand its everyday running discourse,

Nor can they abide by the principles of my propriety,

Worthy are the people blessed with a divine heart,

Nor compared to them is another soulless heart,

Yet the world passes through, calling each other mad,

For the man would never contradict it’s vastly discourse,

And for the world lives by its own teensy weensy highs and lows,

Neither understood nor understandable,

Sniffing and deceiving with eyes squat, smile sardonically,

Thinking to hide true self but unaccomplished,

Linking one’s cords with God; the only hope,

To find peace and tranquility of a life as never before.