What does it mean to break the ordinary
to lift a pen like a chisel against stone,
knowing the first stroke
may draw blood from your own palm
before the marble yields?
The poet stands in rubble,
not as scavenger but as archaeologist of the unspoken,
sifting through what civilization discarded:
rusted prayers,
half-truths wrapped in silk,
the hollow promises fed to hungry mouths.
Here, in the space between collapse and creation,
we learn the grammar of phoenix-speech
how ash becomes ink,
how destruction whispers the blueprints of what endures.
To shatter,
is to reveal the fault lines already etched beneath the surface,
to name the cracks we’ve learned to ignore.
And so we build:
not monuments to beauty,
but altars to the beautiful refusal,
where truth burns clean,
where words rise like smoke signals from the wreckage,
calling to those who still remember how to see.
