We are particles in superposition,
spinning free through probability clouds
of choice and chance,
until observation collapses the dance into
tribes, into gods,
into truth, into certainty,
into determinism.

What if freedom exists in the fuzziness between
measured and unmeasured,
seen and unseen,
and uncertainty becomes the only prayer
worth whispering to a future that refuses
to be there until we stop trying to
pin it on notice boards,
stop demanding it bow to our coronets?

 

16/8/2025