The Lunatic Patient | Stephen Izevbekhai

Bundled into this closet of a building,
With hands and feet tied
Like a prisoner in sordid clothing.
Good morning Mister!
An ironic response he gave,
A temperament drenched in frozen ice.
How dare the mammoth crowd bring me into this temple
Where men are all dressed up in white coats,
With stethoscopes hung over their neck like necklaces made of diamonds.
Multiple questions in ripples thrown at his feet;
What time of the day are we?,
“Oh well!,
It’s not early, neither is it too late.”
Where are we presently?
A miniature building in a continent
Where some black skinned people
Dressed up in white, walk freely
Pretending they are whites,
Yes, i think i am alright ,
Dabbed patches of powdered chemicals on my fist,

My gut stained without blemish.
He loosened the chains,
And pulled off his clothing,
While making a naked dance in futility
Along the street.
I smiled,
Pondering on these actions displayed
By my lunatic patient.