Title: What The Records Will Not Say Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker sits alone, older now, aware that history is listening but unable to speak back.)
Monologue:
They will remember me for what I built.
For what I signed, conquered, declared, or defended.
My name will be etched into books,
my decisions reduced to dates and outcomes—
as if I were made of certainty alone.
But history has never asked me
what it cost.
I stood before crowds and spoke with conviction,
even when my hands trembled behind the podium.
I chose words carefully,
not because they were true,
but because they were necessary.
And necessity, I learned, is a dangerous excuse—
it silences conscience very efficiently.
(Pauses, voice heavy.)
There was a moment—only one—
when I could have turned away.
When mercy would have changed everything.
I told myself restraint was weakness,
that hesitation would invite chaos.
So I acted.
And the world applauded.
But applause fades.
What remains is the sound of that choice
echoing inside a quiet room.
They will say I had no alternative.
That the times demanded it.
That history is cruel and leaders must be harder still.
Let them say it.
I know the truth I buried:
I chose certainty over humanity,
order over compassion,
victory over what was right.
(Softly.)
If you find this confession long after I am gone,
do not look for villains or saints.
Look for people—
afraid, ambitious, convinced they were necessary.
And remember this:
the greatest secrets of history
are not conspiracies,
but regrets too heavy to be spoken aloud
until there is no one left to punish us for them.
(The speaker lowers their head, not seeking forgiveness, only truth.)