𝐈𝐟 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲

He lived behind invisible bars,
Chasing meaning among the stars,
In pages turned, in cheers and race,
In fleeting glimpses of a place.

Where purpose bloomed, and hearts stood tall,
But each pursuit would always fall.

The world applauded; he wore the mask,
Excelled in every given task.
Yet in his chest, a hollow drum
Beat softly to a song unsung.
He aged with wisdom, pride, and ache,
A soul adrift, a heart opaque.

Then came her—a tender light,
Soft as dawn, yet burning bright.
She spoke, and suddenly he knew
What all his years had failed to do.
She was the warmth he never felt,
The place where all his armor melted.

But rusted hands can’t hold a rose,
He fumbled love he should’ve chose.
Too long alone, he lost the art
Of how to tend a blooming heart.
He stumbled, failed, and couldn’t see
That love requires humility.

Now silence sleeps where laughter lay,
She’s gone—his light, his guiding day.
He sits with ghosts and memories,
A sailor mourning vanished seas.

His flame burns low, the night grows near,
He whispers truths she’ll never hear.
“If only,” carves his final breath,
A love too late, a life in debt.

(Inhmangaih dangte ang bawkin, intih thinrim châng kan nei ve ṭhin. Ṭum khat kan inṭhen zuai a, thupha chawinain a umzui nghal...)