Silent Rebellion

We don’t always scream our defiance —
Sometimes it’s in the quiet way we persist,
Like dandelions breaking through concrete,
Or morning dew refusing to yield to sunrise.

They expect fire and fury,
But our resistance flows like water
Around their expectations,
Wearing down stone walls with patience.

We keep our revolution
Tucked beneath tongue and eyelid,
In the way we choose to love,
In the stories we whisper to our children.

Our rebellion lives in small victories:
Growing vegetables in windowsills,
Sharing bread with strangers,
Dancing when they say be still.

It’s in the books we read in secret,
The songs we hum under breath,
The dreams we guard like ember sparks
When they try to douse our light.

We paint our walls with hope
When they mandate despair,
Plant flowers in bomb craters,
Find beauty in broken things.

This is how we fight:
Not with raised fists or burning flags,
But with stubborn joy,
With relentless kindness,
With the audacity to remain soft
In a world gone hard with fear.

Our rebellion is the steady pulse
Of countless hearts beating in sync,
A quiet symphony of survival
That they’ll never silence.

Because sometimes the loudest protest
Is simply refusing to break,
Standing rooted like ancient trees
In the soil of our convictions.

This is our silent rebellion —
Not a battle cry, but a whispered promise:
We will outlast their storms,
We will bloom in their shadows,
We will persist.