In the vestibule of youth, where dreams ferment,
They call infatuation “maturity”—how quaint.  
But I, a cartographer of sanctified time,
Refuse to mortgage my becoming for a borrowed rhyme.  

Let them chase trends like moths to neon flame,
I walk in cadence with my own name.  
Commitment, not to another’s orbit,
But to the constellations I’ve yet to inherit.  

This is the era of cerebral bloom,
Not of vows whispered in adolescent gloom.  
Why tether wings to transient winds,
When the sky itself awaits what my spirit rescinds?  

Premature pledges fracture the spine of purpose,
Stretching us millionfold from our sacred corpus.  
Love, when summoned before its season,
Spoils the soil—defies reason.  

So I remain uncommitted, not unfeeling,
My solitude is not silence, but healing.  
I am the free bird, not caged by trend,
My sanctuary begins where false rituals end.

They bore thee not in ease, but in crucible flame,
Nine moons of tempest, no laurels, no fame.  
Mood-swung maelstroms, spine cleft by steel,
Yet she bore thy breath no barter, no deal.

Anesthetic hush, then blade’s cruel hymn,
Scissor-born silence, backache grim.  
She sits not in solace, nor lies in grace,
Her vertebrae chant thy name in trace.

Father, the silent steward of coin and creed,
Barters his breath for thy school-need.  
He eats last, dreams less, buys none but thee,
Yet thou trade his love for a boy’s decree.

We, the heirs of sacrificial lore,
Sell legacy for lust, and ask no more.  
Hide truths in shadow, veil hearts in guile,
For a fleeting flame that lasts a while.

Doth he thy paramour, thy fevered muse  
Know thy soul’s ache, thy silent bruise?  
Will he rise at dawn to fetch thy cure,
Or vanish at dusk, love insecure?

Parents primordial poets of pain
Are cast to margins, cold disdain.  
We rage at their rebuke, spit at their plea,
Yet kneel to a lover’s tyranny.

When mother weeps, we turn our face,
But for a boyfriend’s silence, we lose grace.  
We beg, we bend, we break, we bleed
Yet for our parents, we sow no seed.

Shame be thy shroud, betrayal thy crown,
Where womb-born bonds are cast down.  
No lover’s touch, no whispered vow,
Can match the love they gave till now.

So let this verse be thy dirge, thy flame,
For children who forget their name.  
Return to the roots, the sacred tree
For none shall love as endlessly.

In corridors where silence screams,
Where chalk dust drowns our fragile dreams,
A sovereign sits with granite gaze,
Unmoved by pain, immune to praise.
I came with fire in throat and bone,
A whispered plea, a muted tone.
He scoffed, “Then why attend at all?”
His heart a vault, his mercy small.
He vowed to climb the vice’s stair,
But vanished in the stagnant air.
I waited in that echo tomb,
Auditorium turned to gloom.
Each absence fined with ruthless hand,
No grace, no pause, no reprimand.
He counts our wounds in ledger sums
The toll, the wrath, the crazy ***.
He sees not nights of sleepless ache,
Nor hears the soul begin to break.
He mocks the sick, the shy, the numb,
And brands us with his judgment drum.
A class should be a sacred flame,
Not crucible of guilt and shame.
Yet here we walk on blistered stone,
With hollow hearts and hope o’erthrown.
So let this verse be requiem’s cry,
For every tear we blinked to dry.
For every voice he left undone
We mourn the bell he would not rung.

They were born of glass four shards in bloom,
A boy, two girls, then dusk’s last plume.
A house once held their laughter tight,
Till fate collided wrong with right.
Steel kissed steel, and silence screamed,
Two souls erased, two dreams unseamed.
The cradle cracked, the walls grew thin,
And strangers bought the blood within.
One sold to silk, one sold to shame,
One wore a badge, one lost his name.
They wandered near, yet knew not kin,
Their roots erased beneath their skin.
A mother’s love, a borrowed lie,
A party mask, a hollow eye.
She danced for men who broke her grace,
While daughters drowned in silent space.
One touched by hands that should not dare,
One blamed for truth too raw to bear.
One drove the wheel, one wore the crown,
Yet none could see the blood run down.
The eldest searched with fractured breath,
To stitch the seams of scattered death.
But destiny, that cruel disguise,
Kept every answer veiled in lies.
They should have grown in garden light,
But bloomed in shadow, out of sight.
One moment tore their world apart
A crash, a cry, a shattered heart.
So let us hold what time can break,
Each breath, each bond, for memory’s sake.
For life’s a thread, not iron-spun
And glassborn souls can still outrun
The silence.

Someone's living their life,
Someone's living in lies.
Some people appreciate beauty,
Even though they don't know why.

Some just drive their way—
They call it "vibe and thrive."

But how would life be
When you truly know what life is?

Appreciate beauty,
Appreciate ugliness.
Appreciate joy,
Appreciate sorrow.

Then you’ll know:
Real beauty is your duty.