When people think of you,
they think of home,
peace,
belonging.
For me, my country’s core rots with every passing second,
a wasteland where blood flow seems endless.
Lives wasted,
hopes extinguished,
dreams shattered.
The press emphasises the ruthless raids of the terrorists and the corruption of our duplicitous leaders.
Our so-called protectors stand exposed,
their failures are evident for the world to see.
This is the truth.
Behind closed doors,
they bathe in the blood of their people
and raise toasts with glasses of their tears.
The entire judicial system
has become infiltrated by this corruption.
I hear it all…
the stories of millions of survivors.
I see the victims on weathered posters,
surrounded by the tears
of their mourning families.
Yet still, a light burns in their eyes;
their hope for change
shining through their pain.
All I long to hear,
to see,
to know, is that my land—our land—is safe and whole once more;
a place that fosters growth,
where young lives can flourish instead of being left to decay.
We want to reclaim our home.
But to do this,
we must stand together:
one tribe,
one body,
united as one.