Manifesto of the Anti-Manifesto

We proclaim a revolution — a blazing call to rise —
yet every bold word fumbles into a whisper of doubt.

We inscribe a creed of fierce truth on crumbling stone,
only to find each carved line melts into self-cancellation.

We are the architects of freedom, dismantling the old,
even as each fallen edifice rebuilds silently from our debris.

We shout, “Change is ours!” in thunderous verse,
but our every syllable thunders only to echo an untold void.

We claim a united uprising, a single spark to kindle a wildfire,
and yet each flicker briefly illuminates nothing but the shadows.

Every promise of liberation pounds like a mighty drum,
only for the beat to break into scattered murmurs of resignation.

We script a manifesto so potent it defies the rigors of the past,
only to see its convictions unravel, thread by unraveling thread.

Here lies our declaration: a manifesto that both declares its purpose
and undercuts itself in every line — a fearless anthem of self-defeat.

In our art of contradiction, the revolution is alive and inert,
a paradoxical blaze that lights the dark, only to be swallowed by its own flame.