POEMS FROM A BROKEN MAN WHO WON'T LET GO

POEMS FROM A BROKEN MAN WHO WON'T LET GO

I didn’t write these poems to heal. I wrote them because I was falling apart and the silence was louder than any scream. I had nothing left to prove just a lot left to feel. A man breaks, sure, but disappearing is a choice. I didn’t vanish. I couldn’t. Something still burned under the ash the world dumped on me. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just habit. But it was still there.

Life hit hard. Love left. The streets didn’t care. Hunger came. Loneliness came harder. I sat in a room, stared at a wall, and asked the kind of questions only a man with no answers can ask. I was confronted terribly by life. I could not find a reason to hold on, or even believe in the light I carried. And yet, I realised something in that silence, that I had to write these poems. Not for healing, but as a kind of offering. A cry, a witness. A hand extended toward someone else who might be walking through the same shadows, wondering if they, too, would ever stand again.

This is a reckoning. A record of survival. A testament not to strength, but to endurance. And if you are holding this book now, perhaps some part of you has not let go either. If so, then these words are yours too.