Echoes of Stolen Dawn" A Democracy Day Poem

To speak of the future of my country

Is to stress the importance of liberation

Where choices are freely made—

A democracy where ballots speak.

But what tongue speaks from bloodied fingers?

What voice dares rise above hunger’s weight?

The ballot is cast, yet silence echoes_

For the thief counts it, not the people’s fate.

We march in robes of hollow freedom,

Banners raised, but bread withdrawn.

The anthem strains beneath our sorrow

A hymn to dreams forever gone.

They sit atop stolen oil and grain,

Wearing our hopes like crowns of ash.

Ruling elites, feasting fat on our silence,

While we drink from democracy's trash.

Yet still—we gather, fists not wilted,

Hearts like drums, fierce and awake.

This day, this hour, this breath we seize,

To break the curse, to raise the stake.

For democracy is not their masquerade,

Nor the cage dressed up in law.

It is the fire in the worker’s chest,

The courage in the people's roar.

So let the tyrants dread our rising,

Let their gold-stained lies decay.

For from the ruins of their greed,

A truer dawn will find its way.

And when we speak of this tomorrow,

It will not be of chains endured—

But of voices lifted, power reclaimed,

And a nation finally cured.

When the Clouds Gather

When the vicissitudes of life press near,

And hope retreats, eclipsed by fear,

Keep pressing on, though skies turn gray

The darkest night gives birth to day.

Though clouds may brood and thunder groan,

And winds may cut you to the bone,

Stand firm, endure the heavy drum

For from the storm, the rain will come.

Not all that falls is meant to break;

The rain can cleanse, the soul can wake.

So let it pour, and soak your skin

New life begins where trials have been.