Maya and the Rebel

When I closed my eyes, I saw a fighter—

a mutiny of one, a rebel, a revolution.

My heart dreamed of rain on dry sand,

of moonlight and peace,

of a world where the soul could simply breathe.

But hunger is a cold companion.

 I found Maya—the velvet trap of the car, the watch, the clothes;

 the soft comfort a rebel’s bank account could never afford.

I saw the world’s duality: hands that heal,

and hands that will wound twice.

 A smile that masks a dagger’s edge—

the quiet peril of turning you back.

Hope grew thin; the darkness settled in.

Neither the rebellion nor the luxury felt like home.

A voice pierced the chaos: “Who said the path was paved in silk?”

I challenged the shadows: “State your name, and your vice.”

The voice whispered back:

“Your wisdom, your consciousness, your voice.”

I opened my eyes—

and my scars shone like stars.

Beautiful trophies of a faith

that refused to break.

A little rest,

a quiet whisper from soul:

My heart is strong, and so is my resolve.

Problems may rise, but I smile at them—

For I continue to stand tall.