They slowly learn to stop talking.

 

There’s a king in a faraway land who thinks therapy is for the weak.

That depression is cured by prayer, and suicide... suicide is just bad manners.

In his kingdom, men don’t cry, they don't complain, they don't criticize; they just... disappear never to be seen again. 

Women don’t scream while their daughters are raped in their husband's houses while the fathers are out for war, they... they just slowly learn to stop talking.

And funerals… funerals are cheaper than therapy.

But today, in this land, on this stage, in this page.

We speak. We cry. We remember.

We say the names that silence tried to bury.

This is not just a poem.

It’s a heartbeat, for the ones who survived their brutality.

And the ones who didn’t.

© amimoh