The Quiet Wars We Survive

A poem for those who’ve watched the world turn away from truth — and still choose to speak. Change doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it starts with a whisper that refuses to die.

We live in cities

where silence is louder than screams.

Where everyone knows

but no one looks.

Where truth becomes a luxury

and kindness—a rebellion.

They build systems

like cages with invisible bars,

teach us how to kneel

before we learn how to stand.

They sell us dreams in plastic boxes,

then punish us

for wanting more.

But listen closely—

under the static of control,

there are heartbeats

that refuse to be still.

There are hands

still writing on the walls,

eyes that still burn like lanterns.

Change is never sudden.

It grows like roots beneath concrete,

breaking the ground

from the inside out.

It starts in small breaths,

in quiet courage,

in one person saying,

“No more.”

I have seen tired souls

turn their pain into thunder.

I have seen walls crumble

to the weight of whispers.

And I have learned

that revolutions are not always loud.

Sometimes they are

a single voice

refusing to be erased.

We are not broken.

We are waiting.

And when the world finally listens,

they’ll realize

the quiet wars we survived

were louder than their lies.