The Republic Don’t Fold

by Mike Vakian

I love this land
but don’t confuse my love
with silence.

These hills, these streets,
they got memory.
They remember chains,
they remember whips,
they remember blood
spilled for freedom
and they don’t forgive liars
in tailored suits.

You stand there,
hand on a book
you never read,
mouth full of oaths
you never meant.
Selling the soul
of a nation
for a headline,
for a handout,
for the crown
you think is yours.

But hear this:
We don’t kneel to fraud.
We don’t clap for thieves.
The Republic don’t fold.

It lives in the sweat
of the worker,
in the fire
of the teacher,
in the vote
of the unheard
who rise up anyway.

We ain’t scared of tyrants.
We’ve buried plenty.
Every empire that thought
it could choke us out
found itself swallowed
by the people’s roar.

So mock the law,
twist the truth,
dance on the Constitution.

We’ll be waiting.
Torch in one hand,
ballot in the other,
voice sharp as steel.

The Republic don’t fold.
It burns brighter
every time you try
to smother it.