In the mist of other people's gazes,
his laughter emerges like a lost sun,
in a world that fears madness,
its essence shines, though inordinate.
Those who turn away, with an indifferent face,
don't know the weight the heart carries,
their lips whisper burning secrets,
That burst into laughter, or a song.
They call him mad, they say it unhurriedly,
for smiling when the shadow lurks,
but he sees colours where there's only a breeze,
And his joy, to others, undone.
Many look at him with judgmental eyes,
as if his world were a madness,
not understanding that in his wise exercise,
there is more freedom than in the cold emptiness.
