Man, do not kneel.
Your tears are not holy water,
and your wounds are not mercy—
but a charter of existence.

You were not made to be called a wretch,
to have bread thrown to you like a dog
and to remain silent because they did not steal your tongue,
but your faith in your own word.

Walk, even if blood leaves a trail.
For the ground your steps tread
is worth more than the tripod
of those who look down on you from above

and do not even know the scent of a person
who rises after a night without a roof.

A song is not an ornament.
It is a knife in your sleeve,
a word for the day when all else is silent,
a palm on your own neck when the world tightens around you.

Love is not a tear on someone else’s doorstep,
but a fist clenched on your heart
when you tell yourself:
“I am not less worthy,
and I will not let myself cry before one
who never knew how to weep.”

for hands that never learned how to embrace people

For those who forget themselves while waiting for others,

and for those who pray, but to the wrong gods

Because every pain carries its own scream,

and every shadow remembers some old figure

Pardon, for loves that have burned out,

for hands that have stiffened from sorrow

I seek pardon for us, weary souls,

to find a path our hearts might follow,

to forgive ourselves when we sometimes fall,

and to recognize love in our own reflection

May time have mercy on us, may it heal our cracks,

May it lift us from the shadows where we are hidden

Because the world is still ours, if we look deeper,

if we seek the light, even in the deaf night

I seek pardon, for all of us, for all of them,

For all that we have lost and all that we carry in silence

Because a heart that suffers is not to blame for hurting,

it only seeks the love that life cherishes

“And you said you would leave.”

They stared at each other, breathless, lost, aware that they had long stopped being just lovers.

This was not just a night.

This was war.

This was the end.

Or perhaps just the beginning of something they could not resist.