When the night seems endless,
when the lights of the world go out one by one,
and the noise of certainty collapses into silence,
that is when the torch appears.
It does not come from the system,
it is not lit by hands seeking approval,
it does not belong to those who rule the day.
The torch of the final night
burns within those who did not bend,
within those who crossed the darkness without selling their soul,
within those who learned to see even without light.
It does not illuminate the distracted crowds,
but guides the few who remain awake.
It does not promise shortcuts,
but reveals the path that had always been there.
It is a living light,
one that does not blind, but awakens,
does not impose, but calls,
does not conquer, but transforms.
And when the dawn finally comes,
it will not be the sun that astonishes the world,
but the fact that this torch
was never extinguished.
The one who carries it
seeks no applause,
seeks no throne,
seeks no recognition.
Because he knows.
He knows that in the final night
it is not about winning,
but about remaining alight.
And whoever remains alight
becomes the dawn.