Grey Humanity
I possess no sovereign gift
to decipher a heart through the silent language of the soul.
Within the narrow dominion of self-interest,
I often consign my emotions to sacrificial flames,
burying them beneath the weight of restraint.
Like Bankim's Nandadulal,
I remain incapable of making my truth understood.
Instead, venomous words are hurled at me,
turning even my humble sustenance
into a feast seasoned with scorn.
This vast theatre of existence
is carved from unforgiving stone;
its relentless hardness seldom yields,
and one must traverse life's winding roads
laden with burdens too intricate to name.
The towering monument of today's self-importance
may crumble into tomorrow's frailty.
Yet when your mortal footsteps fade
from this transient earth,
it will not be your possessions that endure,
but the luminous legacy of your creations.
Greatness is never measured
by the hollow rituals of performative compassion;
it blossoms instead
within the boundless architecture of a magnanimous heart.
Do not, through cunning schemes and calculated deceit,
leave another soul bruised and broken.
Seek not the counterfeit comfort
of civility wrapped in immaculate appearances;
for true joy has never dwelt
within the polished envelope of pretence,
but in the quiet radiance of genuine humanity.
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