The Silent Writers

We write in shadows,

pouring heart into words,

yet the gates remain closed,

our voices unheard.

Readers nod softly,

they whisper, “this is good,”

but the platform turns away,

denying livelihood.

Premium walls rise,

like glass we cannot break,

our poems are loved,

but love does not pay.

Egypt bleeds ink,

yet the hands stay tied,

no Visa, no card,

only rejection inside.

We suffer in silence,

while others are crowned,

our stories dismissed,

our hope drowned.

Medium, do you see us?

The poor who still dream,

who write through hunger,

who stitch words like seams.

Neglect is a dagger,

it cuts without sound,

leaving us broken,

yet still writing down.

\One day the tears

will flood your halls — and you will know the cost of ignoring our calls.

how can I

change the way

of my writing deal