I went to the bakery, a simple task
To buy a loaf, nothing to ask
But life, with its subtle sway
Turns the ordinary into a display

The bread, round, golden, and neat
Waited for me, a silent feat
As if it knew what I didn’t see
That I was searching, though unaware of what it could be

It looked at me with a knowing gaze
Understanding more than I in these days
Too perfect to be just a b...

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Inspired by Gerta Spieß’s haunting lines, “There’s nothing to be done,” this poem, The Weight of Indifference, examines the moral cost of inaction. It reveals how silence and apathy chain the oppressed and stain the conscience of the innocent. A call to confront the guilt born of indifference, it urges us to speak and act, even when trembling, for silence is the crime of care.

What marks the gu...

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This poem tries to explore the personal and societal consequences of living under a prospecitve dictatorship, where the truth is silenced, and freedom of the press is crushed. Through the fate of figures like Jim Acosta, the poem reflects on the heavy price of speaking out against tyranny and the loss of voice in a world where obedience reigns. A stark warning of what happens when dissent is erase...

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A haunting reflection on complicity and silence, Silent Witness tries to capture the slow erosion of solidarity in the face of oppression. With each passing stanza, the weight of inaction grows heavier—until it is too late.

They came in the night, but I turned away,
Not my fight, not my place to say.

One by one, they vanished unseen,
Yet I stood still, my hands kept clean.

When the knoc...

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There is a silence that is not silence
It is the air that refuses to enter
It is the footsteps that echo in empty corridors
the time that drags, heavy
like a body that no longer feels

Fascism does not come with noise
It comes with the absence of song
with the hand that closes around the throat
and says, "This is not pain. This is order."

But there is a light that insists
A tiny light...

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It was no longer the body I saw
It was the emptiness of its lines
the silence that stretched like an endless night
a night in which beauty is lost
what is cursed
as if beauty were a lie
and the curse, perhaps, a form of love

I saw their gaze, the beautiful and the cursed
not with my eyes, but with absence
Because who feels sees through what’s unsaid
through what dissolves in the words ...

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