Clay

I remember seeing two people yesterday. One who kept laughing; the other who kept dying.

I've a fond memory of a girl who did both equally beautifully. I wish she was my forgetting.

The two men I'm talking about are mad. I told them so. I told them I'm the clown. I'm mad. But they were too afraid to be recognised thus.

But madness is like love, it comes when it does. I couldn't resist it. Niether could they. So they are two madmen. One who keeps laughing 'coz death has forgotten to take him in; the other who keeps dying "coz he can't laugh.

And then when it started to rain in the afternoon, they started melting.

"Jesus! They're made of clay."

So what makes them different from each other? Laughing or dying? Happy or sad? Sane or insane?..... Jesus or me? Its all the same.

Dear girl trapped in my memory, are you clay?