The Weight of Their Words

"What have you done? What have you learned?"

Their voices echo, their questions burn.

"Urwa, you're slacking, wasting your years!"

Their words press down, feeding my fears.

I try to explain, but silence remains,

Doubts crawl in, whispering my shame.

Am I really just chasing the wind?

Or too lost, too weak to begin?

They don’t see the battles I fight,

The endless struggles deep in the night.

I’m trying, I swear, to carve my way,

Yet success keeps slipping further away.

Then a thought strikes, cold and unkind—

"Maybe they're right. Maybe I’m blind."

Am I just wasting the time they gave?

A burden too heavy, too lost to save?

I ask myself, "What have you learned?"

But the answer is silence, the question burns.

Why can’t I be the child they deserve?

Why does every effort just fall and curve?

They did so much; they gave their all,

Yet I stand here, empty, small.

I cry to the sky, no words, just pain,

Drenched in failure, lost in the rain.

But then—a whisper, fragile yet true—

"Stand up again. There's work to do."

I wipe my tears, I clench my fist,

I will not break, I will not resist.

Maybe I’ve fallen, maybe I’ve failed,

But my story’s not over, just temporarily derailed.

One step forward, no matter how small,

For I must rise—I cannot fall.