Beat the drums of war to feud
Blow the trumpets loud and rude
Make way and brace for a magnitude
Of the wise fool’s rising aptitude

Roaming about for lust and food
To him the earth beneath subdued
By a dream he breathed and was consumed
To bond and see his rule approved

He gives but to his own brood
And all others are mere crudes
Awakened now he rose to brood
How time has left him ridiculed

By Tongues of Flames his worth is fuelled
Selflessness is not to act amused
But disdain for self and all accused
Of righteousness proclaimed and bestowed

"And let none disturb his Solitude!"

“Shall I not tell you of the best of the people in status? A man who rides his horse in the cause of Allah, the Mighty and Sublime, until he dies or is killed.
Shall I not tell you of the one who comes after him (in status)? A man who withdraws to a mountain pass and establishes Salah, and pays Zakah, and keeps away from the evil of people.”
— Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ)

Such there is Night، not Night as ours—Unhappy Folk
— J.R.R. Tolkien.

The Unhappy Folk: unhappyfolk.org
Telegram: unhappyfolk.t.me
Mail: msg@unhappyfolk.org

Possible Interpretation

This is humanity’s biography as tragic paradox—wise enough to conquer the world, foolish enough to destroy it.

The opening announces humanity’s violent emergence: warfare, conquest, and the “magnitude” of human intelligence. We roam driven by base needs (“lust and food”) yet subdue the entire earth through our unique capacity to dream and build civilisations that outlast us—though these very dreams consume us.

The third stanza captures our awakening to existential dread: we’re tribal creatures who favour our own whilst dismissing others, and we eventually “brood” over our legacy, realising time mocks all our achievements—mortality makes fools of even the wise.

The final stanza presents a perverse philosophy born of this awareness: humanity mistakes nihilism for virtue. We’re fuelled by destruction (“Tongues of Flames”—war, passion, consumption), and we’ve convinced ourselves that true selflessness isn’t compassion but rather contempt for ourselves and universal condemnation—declaring all unrighteous to justify our own failures.

The closing line suggests humanity’s ultimate retreat into wilful isolation, demanding to be left alone with our delusions undisturbed.