In the shadow of wealth, where silence dwells,
A poor man speaks, but his words repel.
No crown of gold, no robe of fame,
His wisdom drowned, his voice a flame.
To those beneath him, he's but a jest,
A hollow drum, a man suppressed.
Confidence wears the guise of pride,
And truth, when spoken, is cast aside.
The night is long, its darkness deep,
Where dreams are buried, and hearts must weep.
Yet even night must yield to dawn,
And wealth, like tides, moves on and on.
The moonlight fades, and shadows break,
The world transforms as mornings wake.
So too does fortune shift its course,
As droughts give way to rivers' force.
Unbalanced life, a pendulum swings,
From paupers rise the hearts of kings.
For poverty, like a fleeting shade,
Can birth the strength that riches fade.
His hands, though calloused, build their walls,
Yet none will heed his earnest calls.
But time, unyielding, will have its say,
As night surrenders to the day.
His knowledge blooms in the soil of strife,
Each word a pearl, a piece of life.
Though pearls are lost in the muck of disdain,
The day will cleanse where storms have lain.
Oh, cruel the world that weighs a man
By coins and riches he does not span.
Yet nature knows what balance brings—
From barren nests, take flight new wings.
So let him rise, though scorned, ignored,
With every step, his spirit restored.
For one day soon, his voice will sing,
And echo loud as truth’s own ring.