Author: admin

Within each breast a private kingdom stirs,
Where longing shapes its own uncharted law,
Where will asserts what no edict defers,
And selfhood stands on what the heart first saw.

Yet round us press the claims of kin and race,
The weight of custom and the voice of need,
The roles we’re asked to fill, the given space,
The common ground that asks our common seed.

Between these poles we live our numbered days,
Now servant, now the sovereign of our will,
Now lost in others’ roads, now our own ways,
Now bending to the world, now standing still.

This war within is life’s most sacred art —
The self made whole by what would break the heart.

They come with smiles rehearsed, their offers set,
A table dressed in false civility,
Who reads the room and corners you — and yet
They call it choice, this forced humility.
The terms arrive like verdicts, cold and sealed,
No room to breathe, no margin left to turn,
The hand extended only to be steeled —
Comply or watch the bridges start to burn.
How clean their conscience sleeps, how well they feed
On spoils dressed up as generosity,
Who profits most from someone else’s need
And calls the whole transaction victory.
But justice has a long and patient gait —
God help them when it finally finds their gate.