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Say It Again

They say every truth has had its day, Every word worn down by time’s decay. But still I speak, though echoes ring— Not for the crown, but for the king. Perhaps it’s carved in ancient stone, Or whispered when we’re most alone. Yet silence grew where sound had been, So if no one heard—say it again. The poet wept it in a rhyme, The prophet screamed it through the grime. The child drew it in the sand, The elder reached with trembling hand. But ears were deaf, or minds were closed, And hearts in fear became enclosed. So though it feels like worn refrain, For love and loss—say it again. Say it with fire, or soft like prayer, Say it in rooms where no one dares. If truth once knocked and no one came, Then knock once more, and speak the same. For words don’t die just 'cause they’re old, They rise again, bold yet untold. And if it’s real, and cuts like pain, It must be said—again, again.
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Masese

Masese, the marketer, sharp and slick,
His words like arrows, targets to pick.
Sales were his game, numbers his score,
But a nagging doubt lingered, a feeling of more.

The quotas he chased, the deals he secured,
A hollow success, a hunger uncured.
For Masese, the man, with a heart underneath,
Sensed a yearning for purpose, beyond profit's teeth.

One day, a campaign, a brand with a cause,
To heal a community, defying the laws
Of just selling a product, a mere fleeting trend,
But a chance to uplift, a helping hand to lend.

Masese's voice, once hawking and keen,
Now spoke of compassion, a message unseen.
The numbers climbed high, but a warmth filled his chest,
For marketing with kindness, he put it to the test.

And Masese realized, with a newfound glee,
That good deeds and commerce could harmoniously be.
The targets he met, with a conscience so clear,
A marketer transformed, his purpose held dear.

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