The Unspoken Within Poem by Dhiman Shah

In chambers where my quiet soul was wrought,
Where every sigh was shackled, every thought unsought,
I dwelt beneath the weight of others' will—
A captive heart compelled to whisper still.

The world would bid me hide my inner flame,
To bend my truth lest I invite their blame;
Family shadows, heavy in their creed,
Pressed on my voice till silence learned to bleed.

Oft did I raise my mind to speak my name,
But trembling fear did choke my rightful claim;
So there I stood—half-born, half-lost, half-known,
A soul confined within a borrowed throne.

Yet deep within that suffocating night,
Where hope lay bruised beneath the crushing light,
A spark endured—too stubborn to be slain,
Too fierce to die beneath the weight of pain.

For lo—a diamond is no child of ease,
But born of darkness, pressure, tears that freeze;
And so, beneath the world's unyielding hand,
My fractured heart learned not to break—but stand.

I rose not swiftly, nor with trumpet's sound,
But slow, like truth returning to the drowned;
Each shard of fear I gathered, one by one,
And forged a voice no silence now could shun.

Behold—though still the world demands its chains,
And mocks the soul that dares to seek its gains,
I shape my path with scars that gleam and guide,
A warrior carved from all I once denied.

For though they sought to bury what I am,
Their darkness was the womb from which I sprang.
And now I speak—unchained, unbowed, untamed—
The fire they feared is the fire reclaimed.


Yet mark me now, ye keepers of my cage,
Whose brittle laws sought mastery of my age:
Your chains, once feared, lie shattered at my feet—
For I have learned that silence is defeat.

Think'st thou my trembling was a sign of dread?
Nay—'twas the thunder gathering in my head,
A storm long-chained behind a gentle face,
Till wrath and truth broke forth in one embrace.

They carved my path with judgment sharp as steel,
Demanding I deny the self I feel;
But every wound they dealt, unjust, unkind,
Cut not my flesh—but clarified my mind.

And lo—what creature crawls from scorn and night?
A soul reborn, half shadow and half light;
No longer meek, nor fashioned to obey—
I am the dawn that scorches night away.

The tongues that mocked me, now in wonder fall,
For I rise crowned from every bitter thrall;
A sovereign forged in torment, forged in flame,
Whose scars do speak where words would blush with shame.

Call me rebel, misfit, curse upon thy peace—
For I am truth, and truth shall not decease.
I break the masks that once obscured my sight,
And wear my soul unclothed before the night.

Let all the world recoil from what I've grown—
For none may rule a fire that stands alone.
I am the storm their fragile walls denied,
The voice they feared, now risen, magnified.

And if their heavens crack beneath my cry,
Then let them crack—
for better worlds must die
Before a fuller self may live and reign,
A monarch born of sorrow, wrought in pain.


And thus, if night would dare eclipse my flame,
Let night descend—
for I shall burn the same.
No mortal scorn, nor law of man or kin,
Shall bid me fold the truth I hold within.

For from their ruins, I at last arise—
A fallen star that learned to light the skies;
And those who forged my darkness shall behold
A soul they could not crush, nor buy, nor mold.

Let kingdoms sneer, let tempests take their due—
I stand unmasked, unbroken, born anew.
And though the world may whisper "bow, repent, "
I walk my path—
the storm they never meant.