He who came, on a weary road
saw little difference in life
of how it was before
and how it revolves in strife ,
but he couldn't perhaps be told
as for what he heard where whispers in his head
and things that were less lively, yet almost dead
He wasn't insane but sanity was absent
and it was winds that whispered to him in their
own soft accent
that in the language of life
but he couldn't hear it
he was deafened

His solitude was his prison
his dwelling, his vision
his presence in his own utopia
where he found himself alone
but to mess his expectations
came other souls
he wasn't there the only one
but there were others too along
who he shared his breath
there was compassion's warmth  
and deceit's wrath
and he was disturbed

He wouldn't want to be a label
where one's eyes would tag him
and a free life is a fable
in this world he lives which in grim
is much a pain to his time
Time is so limited yet just to live
in himself he wanted much to believe
but it was exploited
at heart, and retorted
by his own grimaces
because of the judging face
so he became dumb

Not a word heard, not a word said
walking on his own, living or dead
he walks step by step
still judged by many and by some
He is deafened, disturbed and dumb