By Maryam Hammed Titilayo

They clap for stories once they shine,
not nights that wrestled doubt in tears.
They praise the glow of the finish line,
not hidden battles fought for years,
They cheer the star that floods the sky,
yet miss the dark it journeyed through.
They see the height and wonder why,
But never count what shaped the view.

I am not late, I walk my pace,
no borrowed light, no frantic race.
Though quiet steps leave little sound,
my roots grow deep beneath the ground.

No trumpet calls my steady rise,
no spotlight frames my silent art.
But strength is built where no one spies,
in patient corners of the heart.

And when I stand where I belong,
it will not feel like a sudden flame.
It will be proof that I was strong,
long before they knew my name.

No trumpet calls my steady rise,
no spotlight frames my silent art.
But strength is built where no one spies,
in patient corners of the heart.