SHAIRI 012

The Audacity

A poem about betrayal, borrowed innocence, and the arrogance of unearned demands.

She asked for loyalty with open hands
while holding others in the dark.
She wore the face of someone true
and kept her secrets like a spark.

She slept in rooms I never knew,
and dreamed of vows beneath another name.
Then looked into the eyes that trusted her
and handed me the blame.

She spoke of love as something sacred,
of faithfulness as something owed,
while walking paths she kept concealed
along a different road.

One promise spoken in the daylight,
other promises behind closed doors.
She wanted all my certainty
while offering none of hers.

I gave her what I freely could,
without a contract or a scheme.
I did not give to purchase love.
I gave because I believed the dream.

But when the truth came asking questions,
she did not ask what she had done.
She questioned why my trust had changed,
as though the damage had begun
the moment I discovered it—
not when the choices had been made.

The audacity!

To demand the trust she had betrayed,
to seek the innocence she had abandoned,
to call my questions disrespect
while leaving hers unanswered.

No I was wrong.
No I am sorry.
No trembling courage to confess.
Just a careful rearrangement
of who had caused the brokenness.

And somehow I became the villain,
the reason everything went wrong.
As though the one who broke the promise
could decide where blame belonged.

But pain is not a declaration
that every choice was justified.
A tear may speak of genuine sorrow
and still have something more to hide.

Remorse is more than feeling wounded.
It is the courage to be true.
To stand before the harm you've caused
and say, I did this. I hurt you.

I will not turn my love to hatred.
I will not make revenge my peace.
But neither will I wear the guilt
that honesty could have released.

I can forgive without pretending.
I can love without being blind.
I can leave the door to healing open
without abandoning my mind.

For truth does not become a lie
because it troubles someone's heart.
And trust cannot be called a duty
while deceit is played as art.

So let her tell the story differently.
I have no need to win the crowd.
A conscience does not need permission
to remember what it found.

The audacity is not betrayal alone.

It is asking for devotion
from the heart you taught to doubt,
then calling that heart disloyal
when the truth finally comes out.