He cried, but never for himself
He cried for stray dogs shivering beneath rain-soaked nights,
for stray cats curled beside trash and broken glass,
for lives that learned hunger before love,
for eyes that searched every passing hand
and found nothing.
He cried for them—
but never for himself.
He cried for lands torn open like flesh,
for cities reduced to dust and memory,
for children who learned the sound of bombs
before the sound of lullabies.
He cried for wars that fed on lies and flags,
for graves that multiplied faster than truth—
but never for himself.
He cried for poverty,
for empty plates scraped clean by desperation,
for fathers who counted coins like prayers,
for mothers who learned how to smile
while starving.
He cried for hunger that gnawed at bone and dignity—
but never for himself.
He cried for the endless extinction of animals,
for wings that would never rise again,
for eyes that closed without names or witnesses.
He cried for forests erased in the time it takes
to sign a contract,
for trees that stood for centuries
only to fall screaming in silence—
but never for himself.
He cried for incurable diseases,
for bodies turning against their own souls,
for nights spent bargaining with a God
who did not answer.
He cried for pain with no cure,
for hope measured in borrowed time—
but never for himself.
He cried for injustice,
for backs bent under systems built to crush them,
for voices buried beneath laws and indifference.
He cried for the oppressed,
for those taught that suffering was normal,
that endurance was the same as justice—
but never for himself.
He cried at the cry of Mother Nature,
choking on smoke, bleeding into oceans,
burning, flooding, collapsing under human hands.
He heard her scream in storms and droughts,
in fire and silence,
and it broke him—
but still, never for himself.
And so he carried his own pain
like a crime he was never allowed to confess.
It grew heavier with every tear he shed for the world,
every mercy he gave away,
until there was nothing left for him.
He cried for everything that suffered.
For everything that was dying.
For everything that could not be saved.
He cried—
but never, not once,
for himself.
