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Poem

In a town where the whispers grew sharp as a blade..
Where anger took root in the words people made.
A boy flung a stone made of slander and spite..
And a girl threw it back in the dead of the night.

The streets became stages for venomous cries..
With truth dressed in shadows and kindness in lies.
Each rumor, a spark; each grudge, a new flame..
Till neighbours forgot even each other's name.

A garden once bloomed where the children would play..
But weeds of resentment had stolen the day.
The trees bowed in silence, the birds flew away..
The sun hid behind clouds that wouldn't obey.

Then one quiet morning, a child stood alone..
With a heart full of sorrow, a mind of her own.
She painted the walls with a bright, healing hue..
Wrote poems of peace where the wild anger grew.

Her words sang of mercy, of bridges not walls..
Of hands reaching out when another one falls.
She said, “We are mirrors, so what we reflect..
Returns to us doubled..in pain or respect.”

The town slowly shifted, like winter to spring..
Drawn close by the hope that a new voice could bring.
And though hate had scarred them and darkened their past..
They found that compassion still outlives the past.

Let hate be a lesson, not a path you embrace..
What’s sown in the heart always shows on the face.
For love writes in ink that won’t ever fade..
And those who forgive change the world they’ve remade.

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