i see it now—

how power rises,

how history repeats with a raised hand.

they call it “controversial,”

as if my eyes lied.

as if truth bends

to the weight of their words.

“we all know what it’s not,”

she says,

while the past howls in the silence.

“a roman salute,”

they defend,

but the Nazis know their own.

they smirk in plain sight,

their truth louder than ours.

this is how it begins:

with murmurs, with winks,

with the slow death of certainty.