Life threw storms with ruthless aim,
But he stood unmoved, without shame.
Till his last breath, he fought the tide,
Rising, stumbling, still with pride.
He bore the weight, the fire, the fight,
And smiled through the darkest night.
Hope in his voice, though hollow within,
He wore a mask, but never gave in.
Yet some dare now to twist the tale,
To paint him distant, cold, and frail.
They spit on truth, rewrite the pain,
As if his love was all in vain.
Did their heart grow so far and deep,
It forgot the nights he couldn’t sleep?
While they stood wrapped in silent pride,
He faced the dark, alone outside.
They wore their stories like a crown,
While letting whispers drag him down.
Played the saint, the solemn dove,
While trading warmth for power above.
He picked up shards where trust was thin,
Built from silence, gave from within.
But don’t forget truth doesn’t sleep.
And justice’s watch is long and deep.
The world might buy a painted smile,
But truth outlives the longest trial.
They drew the storm, then claimed the rain,
Then called it grace, and shrugged at pain.
They shaped the fire, fanned the flame,
Then watched him burn without a name.
Framed the tale for all to see,
While burying him emotionally.
He cracked beneath those endless games
While they deflected all the blame.
But somewhere inside they know the cost.
They know exactly what they lost.
And that knowing, cold and vile,
Will rot beneath their practiced smile.
The truth needs no defense, no sword
It waits in silence, not in word.
And when it rises, it won’t shout loud,
It buries lies beneath the cloud.
I wish I had a time machine,
To cut between the cruel and clean.
To speak for him, to shield his grace,
To wipe the sorrow from his face.
But I was taught not to interfere,
That private bonds were held most dear
A sacred vow, a guarded space,
Where others dare not take their place.
So I stood back, out of respect,
Let silence speak, let time protect.
Now I know it was all façade,
No sacred ground, no truth, no God.
I should have fought, I should have known,
And saved my brother from that stone.
From shadows dressed in calm disguise,
I should have seen through hollow eyes.
But now I ache with words unsaid,
A quiet grief, a hanging thread.
He gave his soul to build their peace
But his devotion found no release.
And if this price is what love earns,
Then justice dies when silence burns.
This world is cruel, this world unfair,
But truth still breathes, still fills the air.
And when it comes, it won’t make noise
It’ll break their lies, reclaim his voice.
—The Wounded Fighter