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Poem

He is not someone you bump into on the road and fail to notice,
he is the one whose presence you feel in the empty corridors he traversed,
he doesn't wear the falsehood of a feigned smile on his lips,
but sews his bleeding truths onto the contours of his soul.
He won't accuse you of gazing too long at his flawless face or measured steps,
he is not the subject of the town's empty chatter, but the whisper that slips into shadows,
he is an ordinary person who hates attention, too hesitant to meet your gaze,
he doesn't care about appearances or the silent knives that wound his back.
He is someone you all know,
he is someone you all judge.
He remains an enigma revealed only in the silence between heartbeats,
a story that stretches like an echo among the cold walls of indifference,
a presence that asks nothing but leaves a deep mark in the silence it touches,
a soul weaving its path amid gazes that lack the courage to see.

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