A Gavel Carved from Doubt - By Hiral Mankad

Written By: Hiral Mankad

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the thoughtful poem "A Gavel Carved from Doubt," Hiral Mankad delves into the intricate themes of doubt and introspection. Submitted under the poetry category, this work is part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, a prestigious event celebrating the art of written expression. The poem invites readers to explore the complexities of the human psyche through its vivid imagery and emotive narrative.

About the Work

Hiral Mankad's "A Gavel Carved from Doubt" presents a powerful exploration of internal conflict and reflection. The poem's mood is contemplative, with a literary style that blends vivid imagery and emotional depth. Through the metaphor of a courtroom, Mankad examines the persistent voice of doubt and the struggle between hope and despair, encapsulating a universal human experience.

A gavel carved from doubt

Original Submission by Hiral Mankad

A GAVEL CARVED FROM DOUBT

The mind is not a battlefield

No smoke,

No clashing steel,

It is a courtroom, lit too well,

Where nothing ever learns to heal.

No judge leaves the chair,

No witness disappear,

Only echoes pacing circles

Through the corridor

Of years.

And Arihman sits there,

Still,

Composed,

With a gavel craved from doubt,

Both the verdict

And the sentence,

Both the silence

And the shout.

Amil learned too late, too slow

That giving doesn’t always grow,

That hearts you water

Day by day, may bloom

For others anyway.

He thought that effort shaped the end,

That pain explained

Would start to mend,

That those who hurt were simply lost

Not weighing love

Against its cost.

So when they took

And did not give

He said,

“It’s fine, this is to live”

Each quiet pardon,

Softly spun,

Was ink where Arihman had begun.

Arihman was born without a cry,

No thunder split,

No warning sky,

Just one long wait

That turned to stone,

An “I’m sorry” that was never shown.

He gathered fragments, kept them close,

The teacher’s praise,

The private prose

Of cutting words no one could hear,

He archived every hidden sneer.

A friend, who left when use ran dry,

A lover’s slow, retreating lie,

A job that swallowed loyalty whole,

Each absence

Sitting up his role

The house inside began to change,

The walls drew tight,

The air felt strange,

The clocks forgot what time should be,

And door unlearned their symmetry.

Hope gathered dust

Behind its frame,

Trust wore a faint, decaying name,

And still,

Amil would walk those halls,

Pretending light lived in those walls.

He opened windows to the cold,

Defended hearts that broke their hold,

Believed that good,

If stretched enough,

Would one day make the hurt turn soft.

But Arihman never raised his tone,

He revised,

Refined,

Redefined,

What was known.

A laugh would start, he’d sliced the end,

Rewind the warmth, distort the friend.

A love recalled, he’d dim the start,

And spotlight only

Where it tore apart.

A future dream, he’d drag it back,

Through every fracture, every crack.

“Notice”, he’d whisper, calm and thin,

“how every door you choose caves in”

Panic learned to wear a face.

It moved with Amil,

Pace for pace.

His kindness paused before he spoke,

As if each word,

Might be a joke.

Compliments felt edged with knives,

Silence hummed

With hidden lives,

And every glance became a test,

A quiet trial inside his chest.

He ran those halls,

Not to escape,

But just prove he’d misread shape,

“Tell me I’m wrong,”

he begged the air,

but no one answered waiting there.

Arhiman was patient,

Cruelly kind.

He let hope bloom, then changed its mind.

A hand would reach,

A bond would start,

Then history would play it’s part.

“I warned you once” he’d say again,

“and still you leaned on those fragile men”

Each fall refined him,

Edge by edge,

Until he stood,

A sharpened pledge.

Where Amil paused, he cut straight through,

Where Amil felt, he simply knew.

And life became a narrow thread,

Safe to walk, but softly dead.

Then came the quiet, slow decline

“I was naive…perhaps there were signs

I ask too much,

I cross the line

Maybe their leaving is designed”

His voice grew faint,

His spine unmade,

His defiance bent,

His courage swayed,

Until his thoughts no longer fought,

They echoed what Arihman taught.

The final night arrived too still,

No storm to break,

No force of will.

Amil sat where light once stayed,

In a room now dim, in shadows laid.

Not tired of pain,

But tired of plea,

Of hoping someone else might see.

Arihman knelt, almost humane,

No trace of fury, none of strain.

“I kept you breathing” soft he said,

“but you make living filled with dread”

Amil looked up, empty, worn

Not angry now,

Just quietly torn.

“If I go…” his whispers fell,

“don’t become what hurt me well”

No answer came.

None was due

Arihman had already grown into

Every shape Amil once feared,

Every absence he reversed.

And so,

He faded,

Thin and erased,

No final cry,

No frantic haste.

Just one last truth, too late to save

That goodness is not always brave.

No rescue came, no voice replied,

No hidden door swung open wide.

His final thought,

Regret not light

Then silence closed the book of night

The house stood still,

Perfect,

Controlled.

No shifting walls, no stories untold.

Arihman walked,

With measures breath,

A man who had outlived his depth.

No trust. No wait. No open seam.

Just ordered thought

And sharpened dream.

He called it peace,

This hollow reign,

This life untouched

By risk or pain

But deep beneath, where nothing stirred,

Where even silence was unheared,

A vacancy remained,

Untouched, unnamed

A ghost of something never reclaimed.

Not grief, not ache, not even loss,

Just absence wearing quiet gloss.

And still he wasn’t done

For makers must be overrun.

Each voice that shaped him,

Scar by scar,

Each distant wound,

Each fallen star.

He marked them all.

He knew their names.

He fed his purpose to their flames.

“one by one”, his oath ran deep,

“I’ll wake the hurt they put to sleep.”

And when they broke beneath his hand,

When they no longer

Chose to stand,

He whispered low, devoid of shame.

“I am not the one to blame”

this was always where it led.

This is what your kindness bred.

Oh, Amil…

Look what you made me do

Look what you made me become

Look what you made us do..”

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a distinguished platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. It showcases a wide array of submissions from poets and writers worldwide, creating a space for artistic expression and cross-cultural dialogue. This competition aims to uplift emerging talents and foster a global appreciation for creative writing.

We extend our gratitude to Hiral Mankad for sharing "A Gavel Carved from Doubt" with us as part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your poignant exploration of doubt and the human condition has deeply resonated with our audience. Thank you for contributing such an evocative and thought-provoking piece.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.