He walked away, they said, "He’s the one who loses,"
as my tears fell, searching empty spaces,
every absence, every triumph where my eyes sought his,
but only shadows filled the traces.

"He’s the one who loses," they told my mother,
as she fought the darkness, hands too small to hold
the weight of loneliness, the ache to smother,
while she tried to stay, as her spirit slowly unrolled.

"He’s the one who loses," they told us,
but they lied, for he lost nothing at all.
he traveled, he loved, he built anew,
while we stood alone, afraid to fall.

He lived the life he chose to see,
he found his joy, his sweet release,
at the cost of our sleepless nights,
at the price of our fading peace.

He didn’t lose, it was us who did,
we lost the love, the rights we had,
he had duties, we had claims,
but he left, leaving us in chains.

And there are others, just like me,
children left by those who flee,
fathers who choose to turn away,
leaving emptiness where they used to stay.

Let’s stop saying, "He’s the one who loses,"
as if fate played a cruel hand.
abandonment is not a twist of fate,
it’s a choice, a wound, a brand.

No more sympathy for those who leave,
it’s not something that just happens,
it’s time to name it for what it is,
abandonment, and nothing less.