The Boy who stayed
He stared at the ceiling - breath held tight,
The world moved on; he lost his fight.
No trophies won, no hands to hold,
Just fading hopes and dreams gone cold.
They mocked,
"You had your one big chance,"
He clenched his jaw, broke from the trance.
They saw a fall, a final end -
He felt the storm begin to bend.
Motivations came like drifting snow,
Melting fast, too soft to grow.
But underneath that fragile layer,
Burned a need too deep for prayer.
He didn't scream, he didn't plead -
He simply learned what it means to bleed.
Not just pain - but proof he's real,
A sharpened edge, a will of steel.
He's not the loudest in the room,
But silence doesn't spell out doom.
He walks where comfort fears to tread,
With eyes ahead and pasts unfed.
Because some are born with open skies,
And some must build their wings from cries,
He's not a spark, he is the flame -
Each scar he earns, he carves his name.
And when the dusk gives way to red,
They'll whisper all the things he said:
"I wasn't built to break or plead -
I'm not just strong...
I'm built to bleed."
Copyright © Saankhya Tare | Year Posted 2025
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