SHAIRI 006
The Debt of Doubt
A poem about manipulation, clarity, and the freedom of trusting what one has seen.
You sold me doubt at a steady price,
a little each day, with a practiced smile.
You made my eyes the guilty ones,
and called my questions a trial.
But I kept the dates. I kept the words.
I watched your stories change their hands.
And now your truth has nowhere left to hide—
your story rots where the record stands.
You kept a ledger of favors owed,
as though affection were a debt.
You counted everything you gave,
and everything you gave, you kept.
Go bow before the praise you crave,
the nods, the admiration, the applause.
Your humility is a costume,
your kindness comes with hidden clauses.
You wanted me to question me,
to doubt the things my own eyes knew.
But truth does not become a lie
because it inconveniences you.
I will not carry what you planted.
The doubt was never mine to keep.
I give it back, with all its rust,
and leave your shadows where they sleep.
No speech. No closure. No last call.
No final scene for you to see.
The door is shut. The lights are mine.
I know what I saw.
And now I'm free.
Cosimo von Batie
