The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
Not gently,
not this time.
No mercy lay upon the scale,
no softening of what was sown.
This is the hour
when silence breaks its patience,
When consequence walks in
without knocking.
Where hands once dealt in harm,
they now tremble under a weight unseen.
Where laughter rose from others’ pain,
it echoes back, hollow, unforgiving.
No mercy to be given here.
Not where darkness was chosen
with open eyes.
Karma does not shout,
does not warn,
does not bargain.
It arrives
as steady as breath,
as certain as time,
collecting every unpaid debt.
Where cruelty once stood tall,
It bends.
Where innocence was crushed,
The earth remembers.
And in that remembering,
justice forms,
not in anger,
But in balance.
For life has its own design,
its quiet reckoning,
its unseen hand
that writes the end of every deed.
Call it fate,
call it truth,
call it what it is,
Karma.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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