Title – Wounded World’s Collective Hypocrisy
Wake up, you didn’t lose yourself in public,
you lost your innocence in silence,
the crowd might cheer you up,
like all the sheep going on vacation just for fun.
But you didn’t lose yourself
just like them
just like them,
yes the pain is similar,
but your own right is not a national anthem.
It’s no borrowed hymn, no crowd’s phantom.
Everyone is wounded, every soul thirsty-
confusion clouds the eyes,
sadness weighs the heart.
And you exploit this.
You stain them in your image
while painting a beautiful, grand illusion.
I know what you do,
and why they trail behind you.
They slowly become like you-
greedy, selfish,
swollen with bodiless ego.
I know why they like you:
you sell a dream,
command them to follow.
You feed on their innocence,
like customers dazzled by glamour-
branded promises to the hungry,
to the poor girl blackmailed by hope,
chasing fragments of what you flaunt.
The truly lonely one
is blackmailed again,
settling for touch
without ever being allowed to feel.
Perhaps grace stumbles
over some of you by accident.
Otherwise, surrender costs nothing-
no real work,
just outsourced responsibility
for convenience and quick returns.
What I offer is no shallow stroll.
It is truth without decoration-
not luring you with light like kites,
only to burn you worse.
I burn myself,
knowing the demand is hard.
The world is no children’s playground;
stars are not property to own.
So I remain alone,
one of the few willing to walk this path.
Those who once stood near
left long ago for easier trails.
The one who might come
may never arrive-
from a world addicted to instant yield.
Life and meaning demand authenticity,
not pretense.
In a world where billions join hands
to conquer collectively,
they suffer individually.
Humanity is a hospital
dispensing the same vaccine worldwide.
You divide responsibility,
dilute it, diffuse it-
call it wisdom, a community program.
No one owns the truth through hard work.
Everyone gathers, hoping happiness slips in,
or patterns make them stumble upon it.
You die of envy and jealousy;
people like me die slowly
of longing born from deprivation.
You don’t understand character-
mine refuses to abandon me.
You stand in line like hyenas
watching the lion’s hunt,
waiting for any leash or complacency
to steal a piece of what he earned.
You’re shown the lion’s meal,
told your pain is universal-
honest to feel it.
But it isn’t.
Meanwhile, rare swans in this world
watch crows devour pearls.
They could chase the crow,
or resent from afar-
instead, they demand human rights
from themselves alone.
Luck or grace in your world’s slang
both are no bonus;
it’s salary earned through effort.
In your mind,
you hoard the desire for special luck
as yours alone,
while walking collectively
with that ill intent-
and call it humanity.
Thus they walk unforeseen paths,
uncertain where they belong
in such a world.
