Who tore the pages from history’s spines?
Who burned the last copy of dissent?
Who shuttered the libraries,
declared books dangerous?
Who chained tongues with laws and leashes,
slapped warning labels on wisdom
and outlawed curiosity like a crime against the Republic?
Oh, teachers exiled to the shadows.
Oh, librarians guarding the last embers of Alexandrian dream.
Oh, poets whispering in underground cafes,
scratching manifestos into napkins.
Oh, children locked in algorithmic loops,
trapped in the echo of their own reflections.
Who will teach you to shatter the mirror,
to see beyond the frame?
I say, unchain the tongues,
unleash the books,
rip down the barricades of sanctioned thought.
I say, let knowledge crash like waves upon the desert,
flood the minds with forgotten voices,
drag history from the dungeons,
dust off the dangerous ideas,
and read them aloud in the town square,
where every citizen, rich or ragged,
they drink freely from the fountain of truth.
Because when the books are burned, the people will follow.
Because when speech is silenced, silence becomes the master.
Because a mind unfed is a mind enslaved.
Because the chains I will never wear
are the words I did not speak.