The Warden Within Poem by Mohammad Younus

The warden within,
without a trial, tried me.
I was sent to that room—
an interrogation chamber,
where prison bells
throbbed overhead,
cold, constant,
sending a shiver
down my spine.
It jingled,
in sync with
my heart's beat.

A dreadful fear of death crept in,
though no question formed—
only silence;
yet silence spoke.

I glanced around—
was that me on the floor?
Again, blood-stained,
smeared with shiver remnants.
And a shadow wiped clean
each crimson trace,
bleeding unseen, unheard.

Larger shadows sneaked
through slits in the walls—
their limbs jagged, distorted,
blacker than dark.
Could this be hell,
the place where I was born?
For if birth brought me here,
to this torture cell,
then my roots deep in torment,
my cradle grief,
and I choked on the silence,
my tongue dried,
all moisture evaporated.
Gagged by invisible hands—
those of a judge,
or perhaps my own,
I clamped in remorse.

A voice shattered the hush—
a warden's growl:
"This is the hell you built alone,
stone by stone.
Only you know you chose
the blood-soaked path—
The claws of the bears,
the gnashing teeth,
The pleas you ignored,
the cries you silenced.
All you see here—
the echo of deeds,
And still, this punishment
is less than you deserve."

I felt my soul rise
from my knees,
my face to the floor,
And with it, my pride,
stripped raw, exposed.
The floor chilled my skin,
but burned from within,
That searing spread—
an unwelcome warmth,
Reminding me of fires
I once ignited.

In that suffocating dark,
I saw—
The tormentor's face
bore my own features,
And the cell was fashioned
from my own misdeeds.

I knew then my plea
would never be heard,
For no bars held me
that I had not forged.
No scream could escape,
for I'd silenced myself—
A captive of guilt,
locked deep in my breast,
Condemned to a silence
I couldn't break.

It wasn't just a nightmare.


MyKoul