The one most worthy of the throne
usually stands farthest from it,
aware that power is not a privilege,
but a debt owed to every life it touches.
They know a crown is not made of gold,
but sleepless nights and difficult truths,
the hunger of distant homes,
and the weight of unnamed grief.
They do not dream of being obeyed.
They dream of being just.
They do not love the height of the chair.
They fear the lives placed beneath it.
But the unworthy arrive early.
They rehearse compassion before mirrors,
polish promises until they shine,
and mistake applause for light.
They want the gates,
the guards,
the portraits on the walls.
They want history to remember their names,
though they have forgotten
the names of the people.
Yet ambition is not always evil,
and reluctance is not always virtue.
Some refuse responsibility out of fear;
some seek it because silence has failed.
The test is not who wants power,
nor who turns away from it.
The test is what remains of a person
when no one is permitted to question them.
Give power to the humble,
and watch whether humility survives.
Give power to the wounded,
and watch whether they heal
or make the world resemble their wound.
Give power to the righteous,
and watch whether righteousness
learns to listen.
For power does not create the soul.
It removes its disguise.
The worthy carry authority
as though carrying water
through a burning village.
The unworthy wear it
like fire in a dry forest.
One asks,
“How many can I save?”
The other asks,
“How many will kneel?”
History remembers both:
the one who served
and the one who seized.
The crown may choose the loudest voice,
but justice knows the difference.
For the greatest leader
is not the one who conquers the throne,
but the one who conquers the self
after sitting upon it.
– Dr Haroon Rashid
