In the furnace of the thread
two figures rise...
each convinced the smoke is proof
the other has set the world alight.
One says:
“I am the forgotten one,
the worker, the watcher,
the one elites mocked until the roof fell in.
You....
you are the blind believer in broken institutions,
clinging to rules that never protected me.”
The other answers:
“I am the keeper of the line,
the student of history’s warnings,
the one who knows how fragile a republic can be.
You....
you are the follower of strongmen,
mistaking fury for freedom.”
And so they circle,
naming themselves righteous,
naming the other ruinous,
each certain the mirror is a weapon
and never a reflection.
But beneath the clash,
beneath the armour of certainty,
a quieter truth pulses:
Both are afraid....
of being erased,
of being deceived,
of losing the world they thought was theirs.
And where do we stand now?
On a narrowing ridge
between two storms,
where the ground trembles
not from one side’s anger
but from the weight of both.
If there is danger,
it is not only in their shouting....
it is in the widening silence
where no shared story remains,
and no one remembers
how to build a bridge
without first choosing
who deserves to cross it.
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17 January 2026