Beneath the noise, beneath the light,
There lives a truth too sharp for sight.
Not in the shout, not in the scream,
But buried deep inside the dream.

When all had left, and night had grown,
I met a voice that was my own.
It did not beg, it did not plead,
It only whispered what I need.

No silver crown, no gleaming prize,
Just open hands and honest eyes.
A soul not shaped by fear or fame,
But forged in loss and lit by flame.

The world may roar, demand, accuse
But I have nothing left to lose.
For in the quiet, I awoke,
And that’s the day
when silence spoke.