Runner
He runs, not to win,
But to escape the silence that haunts him,
A hum that's too loud
On the path that no one knows about.
He runs and goes
Without a globe.
People he left, they all mourn.
Yet still he goes through breaking dawn,
Running from the shadows that dwelled his lawn.
The line of time that cut his throat,
The same ones whom he loved the most.
What he thought was the candle of birth
Was a flame to burn his hut,
A promise wrapped in silent lies,
A dawn that dimmed in vacant skies.
He runs and runs
To the morning’s face,
A light that felt like grace.
He fixed his path,
A path unknown.
He runs through that path
To unveil the throne,
A throne that he once met,
A throne that loved him, but he never cared.
That path gets filled with echoes,
Echoes from the throne.
It calls him,
It summons him—
And though he's scared, he runs towards it,
Through smoke and ashes,
Through endless nights.
His eyes are fixed,
And so he runs with all his might.
Copyright © taha Mohammad | Year Posted 2025
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