The Mad Professor – Nicholas Rono

Schools of thoughts,
Pure liquid children of the mind,
Behind glasses, pupils dilate as behind desks, students relax,
Schooled beyond his sixty-some years,
Grey hair all over his head
He calls it the exiled grey matter,
Sticking out like steel wire,
As of the moment he has no first or last name,
He sees figures, diagrams and what-have-you-nots,
Most not in any notes,
Floating around in the fourth state of matter,
Equal signs and inequalities,
Here and there in between this and that,
Moving darkness set upon by focused light,
Illuminating the unknown inside the known,
This is just a dark corner inside his circular mind,
The professor has welcomed madness into his life,
How could he not when it welcomed him first?
Thinking around the same lines of thoughts got boring,
First he divided the lines,
Letting them intersect,
He twisted and contorted his reasoning,
The conventional was sent packing,
Fantasy and imagination set camp,
Planes of thought flew around in the skies of his mind,
Passing each other by the breadth of a hair,
Snatching gasps and raspy breaths from his lungs,
Exhilarating!
He lectures four classes in a day,
Three days in a week,
Two universities, one city,
Of late he’s been feeling like two people,
The person inside his mind who sees things humans forbid themselves,
Then there is the usual absent minded professor,
Bringing a smile or two to his students faces,
Most times they don’t know what they are smiling about,
What he talks about,
What if they had a sneak peek inside just a small part of his mind,
Where the other him exists,
Thinking the unthought of and the unthinkable,
Later on writing down his findings,
Most nights accompanying the dark,
Travelling towards the house of dawn,
Eyes concentrated behind large framed glasses,
As if trying to see through the dancing darkness in his mind.