Echos of my Heart

​Merits awarded to the victors of the war.
Trumpets sounded as they match four by four.

Their faces covered with mud,
Their body carried by water like a bud.

Forced by hardship out of their forefathers’ land,
Roaming without an end.

Our women sang songs of jubilation.
Our men danced in demonstration.

Our lands were filled with honey,
But their eyes only saw money.

We welcomed them like our own.
They scanned us like an eye of a drone.

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