The Outcasts1 min 178 1 min 178
Cut them, make them bleed,
But don't be astonished,
When the blood that trickles down,
Is of all colours seen and unseen,
Glittering like the milky-way,
As seen under a silent sky,
Far away from the world behind,
For they live and breathe in stardust.
Their hearts do beat rhythms,
That the world might not understand,
So they push them aside,
and cast them away,
And create a wall that defines,
What is to be termed normal,
And what must be rejected,
They find themselves isolated.
They dream of worlds that reach no limit,
The divine light of their souls they try to emit,
A head full of stories of countless lives,
An unending ocean of vision is where they thrive.
Tie them and shame them for the gift that they have,
Bury them for being an alien creation,
Bind the outcasts with the strongest chains that you have,
But how will you ever chain their grand imagination?
They flow in the art that you seek for pleasures,
They reside in the formulas you read for equations,
They are the theories that explain you the world,
They created the music to which you swirl,
They are what you wear, what you read and believe,
They are the outcasts, in whose dreams we live.