A dirty sheet II

It's been sometime since I attempted working on the mad man's letters. Too dense for me I suppose. Haven't been able to look at beggars the same way I used to earlier. The days are getting colder and my heart refuses to come out of the abyss. Haven't I pain enough of my own, why did that letter have to fall in my hand. Silence is a cruel bride, my friends mock me now,"Uff, this gadha won't speak sense now? All senti venti now are you? Chal be, drop this affectations man, let's have beer." Beer? I stare at them, that poor old man might have died of thirst for all I know and you want beer. I don't say that,of course, i am too ashamed of my lamentations. Anyways, it's time now for me to type the next few lines from the letter.

"Sun is an affectionate enemy. With its dawn the birds start twittering, the humans start crowding my alleys, the harbinger of noise,of chaos, of multitudes of simians, most yet to climb into human corridors. It takes away from me my darling moon, my precious, my love, my frigid betrothed. She listens to me every night, never complaining, never burdening me with her woes. Every night she calls me to her, My dear Luna calls her lunatic lover to her and we drift in these clouds while the dogs bark to prevent ordinary beings from hearing our conversations. Ours is a relation that has lasted, my sole companions in these lonely nights. Christy sleeps early you know, he has to get inspiration for all those epics he writes. My pens scribbling used to disturb him so now i write not in the bus stop but under the tree. But today I sit under the bus stop's asbestos canopy. Why do i write? What has the world given me in lieu of which i give it in these musings? Don't write, shun these words that They might read, store all your knowledge inside you, you fool,They have forsaken us and we shall discard them now. They are the fools,my friend, you are the normal being. One day We will destroy them. Ah, but dear Christy i was Them a lifetime back. I know what these rats feel. I know these men, I know love. This solitary tear on my cheeks is just a drop in the ocean of world's sorrow. I am inconsequential. What is a dust particle in the huge machine of humanity. Christy sleep now dear. Sleep, tomorrow will be a new day. Tomorrow we might find love."

P.S. the last lines seems to have been added later

Sorry, my friends I haven't the stamina to go on further. Sleep my friends, tomorrow who knows we might find love.

A dirty sheet

Found this letter in hands of a dead pauper on my way from station in the morning. A very dirty paper written on, in almost illegible handwriting. Here I reproduce it to the best of my cryptographic skills and i dare apologize in advance for I ain't too good in this job:

"I am a mad man! Yes, go ahead mock me, look at me with disgust, with contempt. Pity me, ain't I a filthy creature! Not worthy of being called a human, you miserable loathsome ants! All you self-appointed guardians of morality and decency, all you liberal cowards hiding behind your purdah of self inflicted non-violence, all you extremists killing a part of your own God for His sake. You rich snotty got-here-by-my-own-hard work jackasses, u sympathy-hungry lazy destitute bastards! It is I who face the wrath of nature everyday, it is I who return to her every night. It is I who live in sync with her. Look at that bird, how beautiful it is, how free in it's cares, how unchained in it's flight. Yesterday I saw a fledgling being eaten by a dog. It was raining then. Ah! the pitter-patter of rain drops like the footsteps of people walking from station in the morning. Chris is a nice man, u know under-appreciated and that sort. Christy? who? You ask You egocentric homo-sapien. Christopher Marlowe?? Author of Doctor Faustus? Bah! leave it. He's melancholic nowadays all that ado about Shakespeare bloke. But u thought I was mad didn't you. Yes! Yes! I am mad, idiot I am not. I have read, read a lot. All those posters you prima donnas don't care to even look at, those old torn books you discard,I read them. Chris and I have long discussions about life usually. All this talking and discussion makes my throat dry. But where do I get water to drink from? You don't care, do you? No one does. Throw a coin at me, even, you won't and cry you have to if you have less to drink, you will. I hate you, I hate you as much as you hate me or less for what does a mad man want but to get sane but what is a sane man nowadays but an insane.