Before you judge a man,
before you question his silence,
before you decide who he is,
pause and see the weight he carries.
Do you want to ruin my society by abusing men?
They show a man hitting a woman in a drama.
A man being abused.
Is he mad?
Did he come from a place of madness?
A man is celebrated only once
the day he is born.
Thereafter, his life becomes a quiet battlefield.
From dawn to dusk, from youth to old age,
he is molded, sculpted, trained not to live
but to endure, to provide, to protect.
At sixteen, he is thrown into crowded streets,
overstuffed buses, restless trains,
learning survival before he learns himself.
The first lesson etched into his soul:
Respect your mother.
Who is a mother? A woman.
He honors her. He carries her world on his shoulders.
He grows. He earns.
His sisters marry. Who are they? Women.
He falls in love or is bound by marriage. Who is she? A woman.
He becomes a father. A daughter rests in his arms
and his dreams reshape themselves into hers.
Who is that daughter? A woman.
Day by day, he sacrifices himself.
Some men leave their homeland in the bloom of youth,
crossing oceans, giving their prime years to foreign lands,
sending money home while missing birthdays, festivals,
the laughter of their children, the warmth of their homes.
Their youth, their dreams, their very lives
sacrificed for the survival of others.
He works when he is tired;
he smiles when he is breaking;
he stands strong when his world is crumbling.
No one asks if he slept.
No one sees the storms raging inside his mind.
No one hears the silent battles he fights.
He is expected to earn more,
to be more,
to never fail,
to never fall behind.
If he struggles, he is weak.
If he stops, he is useless.
If he cries, he is told to be a man.
His dreams fade, replaced by responsibilities he never chose.
His desires buried under the weight of expectation.
On weekends, when the world rests,
he wanders markets not for luxury
but for fleeting moments of joy for her.
Sometimes, a simple cup of curd carries the weight of his love.
And still, he remains unseen.
Today, the world whispers everywhere
that men do not respect women.
Perhaps some do not.
But is it fair to judge every man the same?
Has anyone paused to see how many lives he has lived in honor
how many roles of respect he has silently carried?
A mother he honors.
A sister he protects.
A wife he stands beside.
A daughter he would give his soul for.
Respect is not always spoken.
Sometimes it is lived quietly, endlessly, across a lifetime.
He is taught how to earn
but never taught how to heal.
He is told to be unbreakable
but never asked if he is breaking.
He becomes everyone’s shelter
yet remains homeless within his own emotions.
Society never asks what he desires.
It dictates what he must become.
A provider.
A protector.
A silent guardian.
But never a soul allowed to feel.
And yet, after all this sacrifice, all this endurance, all these silent battles,
a man keeps going.
Not because the world notices.
Not because anyone praises him.
But because he must.
A man is a noble creation of God,
a beautiful soul carrying strength and love.
We cannot let the faults of a few tarnish the honor of all.
Sometimes the strongest hearts are the quietest ones.
Sometimes the unseen carry the heaviest weight.
And in that quiet, in that endurance, there is a story worth honoring.
Fizza Qaisar is a journalist who writes about social issues and human struggles.
