At the world's edge ,where horizon drops.
The outsider, on this great peril, stops.
'Quiet' his voice, demeanor slightly off,
Looking back, couldn't help but scoff.

Earphones plugged it , a soft music humming in his mind.
But they can't keep the voices inside which are growing louder and unkind.

In a crowded hall, where laughter echoed.
He stood apart, smiled and felt his spirits flawed.
Their delight a symphony he watched from afar,
Shining-meteors filled sky and a lone Northern Pole Star.

They said you tend to stay aloof. Mingle more!
Couldn't bring up the times,he tried, cracked a joke and they got bore(d).
Times he chimed-in and got ignored.
When he felt unseen and still they judged.
Times he spoke their language and culture learned,
Yet in the midst of them , his heart still yearned.

And the music shifts; the voices rise,
a lifetime realisation comes.
One that numbs.
He doesn't need to fit in , to blend.
For his true journey is to mend.

Again he moves forward, among the shushed whispers and silent cries.
To there, where he won't need a disguise.
For every outsider's journey long,
Holds a promise of locating where they belong.
- grim


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