Hole in the ozone layer of his sense increases. He mutters to the tomb of his father, while clumsy expressions flash in his face. A hundred fools watch him with awe. It’s paradoxical they chant holy verses. He has a big sedimentary belly formed from offerings. He heals the insane, rustics say, patting on their crests or tying black cords around their waists. There’s a panacea for peace for many in his absurd mantras. He became a holy man after his dad’s death with the privilege of birth. Lunacy adds charm to his character. Fame is sometimes a friend to folly. Even the distant mother comes with her daughter for a cure. There’s a relief in belief. First published in my book, "Kanoli Kaleidoscope" (PunksWritePoemsPress in the USA).