Sometimes he cannot recognize himself.
He cannot recognize his own hands, own legs, own shape,
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 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.
Sayeed Abubakar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mad-4-2/
