when I grow up

Some things,
you just don’t get.

I know,
somewhere along the lines,
you were never taught chivalry,
never shown nobility,
never practised withdrawing your ego,
until you punish yourself with silence,
content with being the doormat,
the shoe sorter,
the one in servitude,
slave-hood,
peasant appearing,
brave-hood.

You’re much too fragile to ever be spat at,
to be mocked and jeered at,
made to look like the scum of the earth,
and smile,
and say,
Ey Vallah!

W.E.

Music: Pesrev, ilahi (hicaz-homayun) Karaca & Tanrikorou
Poetry: mine

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