The Weight of Silence

For twenty-two years, I’ve carried this weight,

A story untold, sealed by fate.

The echoes of judgment, loud and unkind,

Painted me guilty in the court of the mind.

They spun their tales in ink and light,

Never once asking if they got it right.

A name, a face, a case to sell,

In their headlines, they built my cell.

Post-9/11, fear ran deep,

And justice, it seemed, had fallen asleep.

A Pakistani man, accused and bound,

Guilt was decided before evidence was found.

Ten for death, two held strong,

But the verdict still felt wholly wrong.

Not just in the courtroom’s hollow stare,

But in the stories spun without care.

The media knocked, time after time,

Their cameras poised, their pens primed.

But I stayed silent, I wouldn’t comply,

For truth isn’t theirs to twist or buy.

Then came a voice, across the sea,

A journalist who simply said, "Let me see."

Not "Explain," not "Defend," not "Justify your case,"

But "Share your truth, in your own space."

Jack’s words cut through my guarded wall,

An invitation, honest and small.

He read my files, he heard my pain,

Not for a headline, not for gain.

For the first time, I dared to speak,

To let the world hear the voice they’d seek.

A story untwisted, raw and bare,

A chance to breathe in the open air.

The boulder lifted, the silence broke,

Years of sorrow, in words, awoke.

Through Jack’s lens, I found my way,

To reclaim my narrative, come what may.

Our voices matter, yet rarely heard,

Lost in systems cold and absurd.

But here’s my truth, for you to know,

It’s a seed of hope I hope will grow.

To those who fight, to those who see,

The cracks within this machinery,

I owe a debt, for they remind,

Even in shadows, there’s light to find.