In lands where ancient rivers flow,
Beneath the sun’s relentless glow,
A story etched in dust and time,
Of empires built with greed and crime.

The whispers of forgotten days,
In golden fields where children play,
Yet shadows cast by foreign hands,
Still linger in these cherished lands.

The language of a thousand tribes,
Woven in songs and ancient scribes,
Now mingles with a tongue once strange,
Yet still the spirit won’t be changed.

Resilience in the roots runs deep,
Where dreams of freedom softly creep,
A future bright, a past to mend,
In unity, the wounds will end.