Silence is born from the eyes of strangers,
I carry guilt that does not belong to me.
I worship pains that do not bear my name,
But I feel them, in my bones, like runes.

I am not a judge, nor a savior,
I am just a window to another I descend.
When the world throws silences like stones,
I gather secret guilts within me.

Is it a syndrome? Or a curse? Or is it too rare?
To cry for another – it is a flag, not a burden.
And yet, I fear: if I do not feel, who?
Who will remain the guardian of destinies?