Kim Jong Un

(A Poem of Two Brothers Torn) They call him tyrant, ruthless, cold— A shadow cast in headlines bold. But truth, like buried roots below, Feeds deeper than the world may know. He studied where the West holds sway, Learned Plato’s path, Machiavelli’s way. Philosophy shaped his guarded mind, A mirror to a world unkind. Yet history speaks through hidden pain: One Korea—once whole, now twain. A single people, torn in two, By foreign hands who never knew. Not Kim, nor sire from whom he rose, Drew bloodlines where the fire flows. It was the West—its empires blind— That split the heart and chained the mind. The South was lifted, crowned with light, While North was shrouded out of sight. But had the West not picked a side, Would either brother truly divide? Behind the rockets, threats, and steel, Lies silence no one dares to feel: A son who watches skies grow grey, A bloodline crushed by distant play. What right has one to sit and judge, While feeding wars through subtle grudge? What mercy lies in sanctions cold, That starve a child yet preach the bold? Yet still they lie—the talking heads, Who sleep in silk while others beg. They paint a beast, ignore the cage, And profit from a nation’s rage. But rising now from East and South, A quiet wind from honest mouth: “We see through games, through cloaked command— And reach again with outstretched hand.” O Western world, your mirror cracks, You speak of peace with blades at backs. You broke the East, you bred the pain, And now you rule through guilt and shame. But blood remembers—blood forgives. A nation torn still breathes and lives. And when these brothers meet as one, No West shall turn them with a gun. For peace is not in flags unfurled, But love restored in broken world. And may that day bring truth anew— That power serves, not burdens you. So listen now, before it’s late: The world you broke still dreams of fate. And unity, not fear or greed, Shall bloom again from common seed.