I heard they are changing the dictionary.

What will become of the ones I won as prizes?

First, second, third place–my collection grew,

With the Oxford's red, yellow and blue.

Spines lined up.

All the words once meant the same,

But now, they're changing meanings of.

The window, once a portal to the world

Becomes a barricade against the night of fury.

Bullets, once a distant threat in a far-off land

Now whistles and dances while piecing through fragile bodies,

Shattering everything in sight with a brutal ease.

Home, a refuge–

Overlooks a rallying ground where voices rise like flames.

Freedom, once a whispered hope,

Now shouts in the streets with banners unfurled.

Standing tall and fearless against turquoise-skinned puppets.

They once spoke of justice–hollow, blind, and cold.

Which was never a pillar to lean on

But a fleeting thing to chase.

I hope they're changing the dictionary–

Letting new meaning emerge from the ashes of the old.

Each page will be the canvas of a new history

As revolution rewrites the language of our lives.