Noble Me Poem by Naashon Kuteesa

In the forge of forgotten storms, I rise,
A crown of thorns reforged in gold—
Not born of kings, but forged in skies
Where tempests carve the soul's bold mold.

I am the quiet thunder's call,
The root that splits the unyielding stone,
A whisper fierce, defying fall,
In exile's hush, I claim my throne.

Let shadows sneer with borrowed might,
Their empires built on fleeting sand;
I wear my scars as robes of light,
And noble blood flows from my hand.

For in this vessel, wild and free,
The ancient fire of stars burns true—
Noble me, unbowed, decree:
The world shall kneel, or break anew.