The Unlearning

The Unlearning ​(Cold, precise in decline!) ​We are the last to know the taste of the rain. The last to feel the dirt and the physical pain. Our childhoods died on a sun-drenched street, Before the concrete cooled beneath our feet. The gate swung shut as we stepped outside, The last of the lineage with nothing to hide. We mastered the playground, the grit, and the bone, Before the world was reclaimed by the glow of the phone. ​We walked through the threshold of graduation day, As the shadows of towers began to take play. The signal arrived like a thief in the night, Trading the silence for a flickering light. But we held the line in the quiet years, One-on-one voices, no algorithmic fears. We spoke to each other without the machine, Before the connection was trapped by a screen. ​Pioneers of the static. Architects of the shift. Caught in the current, watching the drift. We built the bridges that everyone crossed, While measuring everything we’d already lost. The unlearning is heavy. The unlearning is deep. The secrets of the "before" are ours to keep. ​Burn the sketches of the world they sold. The myths of the victors are turning to mold. The xenophobe’s shadow, the incel’s lair, We pull the poison out of the air. The last of the sunlight, the first of the dark, We carry the flame and we provide the spark. ​Inflation of spirit. Deflation of home. The "Last Generation" That wandered alone.