The empire of ants

Under our feet, the anthill thinks. Pheromones — memories suspended. The queen does not rule — she holds the dance, and every worker follows the mission. The empire of ants — the world is not ours alone. The empire of ants — another pulse beneath the stone. We think we see the abyss; it's a threshold, a knot. They live differently — and we call ourselves gods. In the laboratory, a man believes he names the true. But the insect watches, patient, without betraying. Under the lens: wars, paths, death, secret. At the edge of the visible, intelligence learns to be silent. Trails, mounds, queen, scouts. A whole world in the infra-day. Not a fable, not a noise — an inescapable logic. And the stone itself listens. The empire of ants — the world is not ours alone! The empire of ants — another pulse beneath the stone! We think we see the abyss; it's a threshold, a knot! They live differently — and we call ourselves gods! The true reign is collective.