In the shadow of mountains, where rivers once sang,
Lies a small, broken nation, now marked by its pang.
Its fields once abundant, now cracked and decayed,
The dreams of its people in ruins are laid.
The whispers of elders, now bitter with shame,
Speak of a homeland once gleaming with fame.
The streets that held laughter now echo with cries,
As corruption ascends and morality dies.
What kind of future do we leave behind,
For the hearts yet unbroken, for the innocent mind?
Will they curse our neglect, or strive to forgive,
In a world we have ruined, yet ask them to live?