Once, a queen of the savanna, adorned in emerald dress,
My plains, a haven where saints found solace and blessed.
I cradled stories whispered on the wind’s gentle tongue,
A tapestry of beauty, where life’s vibrant song was sung.
With silken rivers, I bathed the weary traveller’s soul,
Nurtured the parched with waters, making them whole.
But kindness, it seems, is a treasure easily spent,
For those I sheltered, a bitter betrayal lent.
Their greed, a venomous serpent, coiled ’round my heart,
My fertile bosom, torn by a soulless, grasping art.
Gold and silver, once symbols of light and grace,
Now tarnished by ambition, a twisted, corrupted space.
The laughter of children, once sweet as morning dew,
Replaced by orphans’ cries, a wrenching, mournful hue.
Widows weep in silence, their tears a bitter rain,
As war’s stench pollutes the air, a macabre refrain.
Am I North, the fallen queen, stripped bare and desecrated?
Or a desolate wasteland, where hope has evaporated?
Saints, once my solace, now play the sinner’s game,
Lost in a gilded cage, whispering whispers of shame.
But within the ruins, a flicker still remains
Yet beneath the ashes, a seed of resilience lies,
A memory of the beauty beneath sorrow-filled skies.
Perhaps, from this wreckage, a new path we can pave,
Where respect replaces greed, and compassion can save.
