Conflict is not a thunderstorm.
It’s the flick of an eyebrow,
the rhythm someone\'s breath breaks,
a single step misunderstood, misplaced.
We think we know its edges,
carve its curves, name its roots.
But there is more beneath,
a language of gestures unseen.
A voice too steady, too clipped.
A shoulder turned slightly leftward.
The way someone holds their hands.
The unspoken catching fire in silence.
Before a word stains the air,
bodies shout what hearts withhold.
We wrap it all in logic,
but wars begin long before words.