The Throne I Built Alone Poem by Linus Kithinji Njeru

I leave the crowd, the cruel charade,
The painted stage, the puppet parade.
Where whispers wound and blessings bite,
I walk alone — but crowned in light.

They never asked if I had dined,
Or if the night had bruised my mind.
Yet still they count the coins I lose,
And curse the gifts I didn't choose.

Their love is lawless, cold, and thin,
A race to rule what they weren't in.
They saw the crown but not the blood,
The grind, the grief, the sweat, the mud.

Let them whisper. Let them watch.
I bar no gates. I hold no grudge.
But I've no seat for feigned concern,
No throne for hearts that never burn.

I built this realm from ash and ache,
From prayers unheard and nights awake.
Not gold bequeathed nor fortune born—
But fragments gathered, soul reborn.

They called me "less, " with sharpened tongue—
Less of a man, less of a son.
But kings aren't crowned by kin alone,
I made my name. I carved my throne.

If mother weeps, then let me roam,
Until I'm fit to bring her home.
If kindness fades in others' eyes,
I'll keep my fire — let theirs die.

This isn't flight — it's sacred pause,
A lion leaving loud applause.
To heal, to hunt, to rise once more,
Beyond the gate, beyond the war.

Let silence speak, let absence ring,
They'll find I left — still wearing king.
And if they wonder where I've gone—
I'm building light... from being gone.