They call her a thinker,
She doesnt think,she just feels.
When something hurts,she winces.
when somethings soothens,She smiles.
She is not a thinker,She’s human.
they call her a poet,Sometimes.
She doesn’t weave verses.
She just puts her silence into words.
The ones that are sung by all,
danced upon,cried along,but never heard.
She aint a poet,Just human.
They call her a philosopher,
She isnt one.No she is not.
She just thinks a lil ahead of them.
Where they stop,She begins.
She explores the depths,She glides through the heights.
She isnt a philosopher.She has faith.
They even call her an outsider,
As if she doesnt belong here
She thinks they are right.
She Sees no one as her reflection here.
She is just an outsider,She’s just human.
They call her crazy.
She lives her way,They wont understand.
She is human.
They call her a loner,for she doesnt exist with them.
She isnt lonely,She just doesnt find herself amongst them.
for she refuses to laugh at others griefs.
For she refuses to grieve on what others achieve.
She chooses to stay alone as such.
rather than being lonely amongt all of them.
She is human.
They sometimes call her a writer,
For she befriends the pen than those around her.
The parchmnet never judges her,It simply accepts.
For her words go unspoken in the fear of being misheard.
She chooses to write in her seconds of glooms.
They choose to read in their moments of despair.
She isnt a writer,Shes just a human.
They think of her as evrything else but a human,
For they these days refuse to feel.
They have learnt the art of Living as ice.
Frozen and slowly melting away…
They are unpredictable animals
They claim to love you,Kill the other day.
And for them Its okay.
For they are humans.
She may not be…..She refuses to be them.
She refuses to be Human.