I. The Waking Child

I saw the youngest minds of Earth still stirring in sleep, barefoot in the dust of old divisions, hearts thudding with the inherited fear of strangers, taught to chant flags before they could question their hunger. But the sleep was thinning, and one among them—eyes still wide with myth— rose from the mat where false histories had been whispered and asked, "Why must truth be tamed like a beast?"

And in that moment, the wind changed.

II. The First Step Out of Shadow

They stepped past the hush of custom, where elders spoke in shrines of certainty, and touched the electric fence of taboo until it sparked a new language in their blood. They found not answers, but questions sharper than knives: What is this mask I wear, and who gave it to me? What gods do I serve by remaining silent?

They read not from sacred texts, but from cracks in the wall, from the quiet defiance of moss on stone, from radio static that whispered Sagan’s stars and told them: You, too, are made of hydrogen and hope.

III. The Climb Begins

Their legs grew strong from ascending not mountains, but misunderstandings. Cities unfolded like verses: Dahlonega murmured humility, Hot Springs whispered perseverance, Damascus taught forgiveness to the proud, Harpers Ferry taught the courage of the bridge, and Katahdin, she sang: “The summit is not a place, but a state of becoming.”

Every footstep was a word in a long poem the poem within—the longing for the stars, for clarity, for a life lived in greatness.

IV. The Turning of the Soul

They began to carry others. Not on their back, but in their mind. Their victories were no longer theirs alone. The poem of their becoming grew rich with polyphony— the child from the favela, the elder in a bombed-out clinic, the refugee who taught math under candlelight. Each voice a sacred note in the human chord.

No longer did they rise for selfhood, but for a greater self: the world as one breathing body, each heartbeat echoing through the hollows of war, each breath shared between stranger and kin.

V. The Dismantling of Babel

They stood now—tall, still, beyond the babel of nations and prophets, above doctrines rusting in the bones of empires. They saw what no ruler dares speak aloud: that power built on division will always crack, that the fantasy of the Tower, was unity in greatness. Unitiy that threatened parasites, parasites parading greatness in war and division.

But even with minds taught to tear and divide, the thinkers would built, and rise and rise again.

Speaking a language not of conquest, but of care, knowledge, wisdom and greatness.

Sharing ideas that bend neither to border nor flag, not to eras, not to generation not to spirits of time.

VI. The Radiant Becoming

In time, their name dissolved— not erased, but transcended. They were no longer someone, but something more. A presence. A force. A clarity walking.

Their words were not quotes, but catalysts. Their questions undid tyrannies. Their silence calmed mobs. Their gaze reminded others: You are also capable of greatness.

They taught without teaching. Led without leading. Lived not for self, but for the unfolding of all.

VII. The Final Surrender to the Infinite

At last, they disappeared—not in death, but in diffusion. A thousand seeds cast from one flowering. Their hands now moved through the hands of others, their breath lived in the prayers of those who had never seen them. They became the rain, and the wind that followed it. The light caught in the lens of a telescope, and the tear shed in a village that just learned to read.

And the Earth, older than all memory, whispered with awe: “At last, beings worthy of the future.”

VIII. The Charge to the Living

So now, you who read, you who wonder if this was poem or prophecy, know this:

You are not too late. The age of greatness has not passed— it waits. For your questions. For your courage. For your rise.

Start walking. Start teaching. Start growing.

Let the cities be your syllables. Let the stars be your punctuation. Let your life become the next verse— a hymn for the healing of all things.

No exceptions. No delay. Begin.

“The purpose of education is not to fit us into the world as it is— but to make us worthy of the world as it ought to be.”