I came with empty hands,
no gold, no name – just fire.
Not to climb, not to conquer,
but to serve something higher.

I gave you my days like river to sea,
asking nothing, becoming all.
Each task a prayer, each silence deep
I rose at every call.

You called it family, you called it truth,
and I, the fool, believed.
Until the mask of dharma cracked,
and I saw how I was deceived.

Your kindness wore the robes of power,
your wisdom tasted proud.
You needed servants, not seekers,
obedience – not someone unbowed.

You fed me guilt, not gratitude,
claimed all I ever learned.
But knowledge isn’t owned or owed
it’s the soul’s own flame that burned.

You cursed me when I wouldn’t kneel,
spoke of stars and fate
Rahu’s shadows, as if the cosmos
justifies your hate.

But I am not your echo now,
nor the silence at your feet.
I’ve walked through fire and did not break
your judgment is incomplete.

I gave you all – my work, my trust,
my youth, my better years.
Now I walk away, not bitter,
but with dry eyes, not tears.

No more the leaf clings to the branch,
no more the tide obeys.
I thank the path, but not the hands
that blurred my holy ways.

I leave not as a rebel,
but as one who finally sees
Even love can become a prison
when mistaken for the keys.