May 24, 2025
In the theatre of bloodline and fame, A boy was offered—not asked—his name.
They dressed him in stars, in borrowed light, But left his heart in endless night.
A woman’s hands, with scripted grace, Held not his soul, but his father’s place.
His dance was paused, his canvas torn, Each time his truth tried to be born.
“Create!” they said. “But not your way— Stay where the ghosts of glory stay.”
He smiled with silence, kissed the role, But lost the rhythm of his soul.
Behind the man, a child weeps loud— Unseen beneath the name-proud crowd.
A cage of lineage, cold and vast— He is a star… not meant to last.
Let fire be kindled from this ache— Not every heir was born to break.
