They whisper in the quiet dark, 
like wind that bends but leaves no mark. 
Their echoes weave through silent halls, 
unheard behind the iron walls. 

Their words, a spark, a burning plea, 
a song suppressed, yet wild and free. 
A truth the tyrants seek to drown, 
beneath the weight of crown and gown. 

But silence cracks where courage stands, 
with ink-stained lips and trembling hands. 
A stolen note, a shadowed glance— 
a voice forbidden dares to dance. 

For walls will crumble, chains will break, 
no hush can hold the dawn awake. 
And though they try to smother light, 
a whispered name still shouts the fight.