let karma do its things.

 

He only acknowledges some,
like stars chosen to shine,
while I stand in the shadow,
pretending I’m fine.

His eyes glide past my presence,
as if I were just air,
a ghost in bright daylight,
standing unaware.

Can you see that, God?
Do You watch from the sky,
how pride blinds a heart,
and lets compassion die?

He speaks of fairness,
yet his actions betray,
what the tongue may polish,
the soul gives away.

I tried to be humble,
to answer with grace,
but silence can wound deeper
than words ever place.

Still, I bow my spirit,
refusing to sting,
for I know what’s unseen—
let karma do its thing.

The wheel turns softly,
but it never forgets,
the seeds one sows in secret
will bloom as regrets.

The river of justice
flows quiet, not loud,
it cleanses the humble,
and humbles the proud.

So I’ll tend to my peace,
to my garden within,
while envy and spite
rot where they begin.

I’ll walk with patience,
even when it stings,
for I trust the unseen—
let karma do its things.

He may rise on applause,
built on sand so thin,
but truth is an ocean—
it pulls liars in.

When the dawn unveils all,
when masks lose their cling,
he’ll face his reflection—
let karma do its thing.

And I? I’ll just smile,
not bitter, but free,
for time writes in justice,
what eyes cannot see.