We are made to endure.
The weight of my paperweight
rests heavy on a page—
your justice denied
in yesterday’s newsprint.
I looked away.
And in my silence,
I became
part of the harm.
You sat on a throne of thorns.
I sat in comfort,
mistaking distance for innocence.
Freedom was mine.
But in my quiet,
I built walls
between your cries and my peace.
Come closer—
I want to speak,
but only after you place in my hands
the trident you once held in prayer,
now rusted with neglect.
We walk toward a fading light,
shoulder to shoulder,
bent before
the idol of sacrifice.
I feel too much,
yet speak too little—
like a piano
never touched,
never heard.
Let me live like you,
wear your shoes
worn thin from standing alone.
And maybe,
if we trade faith
like breath in a fire,
we’ll outlast
the smoke of all we’ve lost.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to [email protected]
