In the shadowed corners of forgotten towns,
Where dreams are woven on the tattered threads,
The echo of hope quietly drowns,
Beneath the weight of unyielding heads.

Children run with bare feet on cracked earth,
Skies above them, a tapestry of gray,
Their laughter a melody of humble mirth,
Carving joy from the harshness of day.

Mothers cradle their burdens, hearts heavy,
Weaving stories of strength from broken words,
In silence, they whisper dreams of plenty,
As the world turns, unnoticed, unheard.

Yet in the stillness, resilience blooms,
Like wildflowers in the barren field,
Hope, a quiet fire that gently looms,
Promising a future, a wound to heal.