If Nobody Listened
If nobody listened—
would the poem still breathe?
If nobody listened,?would the words still matter??
Or would they curl up like burnt paper?
that never asked to understood?
What if the poet speaks?and the walls do not echo back?
Is a lighthouse still a lighthouse?if no ships are lost?
If nobody listened,?I would still write.
Because the poem
is not a performance?it is a pulse.?It is the stubborn proof?that I was here.
Because poetry is not begging?to be heard.
It is surviving being ignored.
Because somewhere between
in the deep unseen,
something always listens.
Maybe the poem was never meant
for the crowd.
Maybe it was meant for the one person
standing at the edge of themselves
On the tight rope of life
teetering…
Maybe it was meant for the future,?for the bones not yet formed,?
for children who will inherit unfinished sentences.
If nobody listened today,?tomorrow might.
And if tomorrow doesn’t,?the earth will.
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