The one without a flag

There was one without a flag
walked barefoot,
feeling the tremble in the earth
long before the storm came.

When the kings argued in marble halls,
and the rebels shouted in cracked streets,
this one sat beside the well
where the workers wept and the widows waited.

In every fire,
they saw the smoke drifting both east and west.
In every cheer,
they listened for the silence beneath.

They were not neutral.
They were soil —
holding every fallen seed
without asking who dropped it.

And when the banners fell,
and the parades grew quiet,
the people found this one still there —
with sleeves rolled,
hands dirty,
eyes clear.