The Unwitnessed Grief
If it hurts this way,
know—I never wished it so.
Yet they bury me in blame,
while my soul lies in cinders,
scattered and silent.
They say I never tried,
but the witnesses scream
from the hollows of my eyes,
from tears
no one dared to witness.
I wonder—
where was my fault etched?
If no sin was mine,
why does suffering cling
like a shadow that devours the light?
If nature remembers,
let karma carve them as it carved me.
But here I remain—
drenched in endless rain,
a ghost wandering my own grief,
waiting for a rainbow
that may never rise
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