The drumming has ceased,
Once they sang of harvest, now they echo in the hills,
A different beat—filled with grief, shattered peace,
Where we used to dance, now thick and unyielding dust settles.
Fires burn where homes once stood,
Flames licking at memories, consuming lives into ash.
Our children, with their eyes wide open, stare at the world
That no longer speaks the language of their laughter.
War came like a shadow creeping over the land,
It murmured in the ears of brothers,
Turned friends into foes, villages into graves.
We wear the scars of stories untold,
Carved into skin and soil alike.
In the fields where we once planted hope,
Now only bones grow—ancestors and dreams
Lie buried in the same earth,
Cracked open by the weight of war.
Mothers cry into the wind,
Their voices carried across borders,
Looking for lost sons and daughters,
To the endless hunger of conflict.
In the silence after the gun,
We find the strength to rebuild,
Brick by brick, soul by soul.
We braid the broken threads of tradition,
And sing again, though our voices tremble.
For we are the ones left standing,
The survivors with stories ingrained in our bones,
Who know that after fire comes rebirth,
After bloodshed comes the healing rain.
The trees will grow again,The drumming has ceased,
Once they sang of harvest, now they echo in the hills,
A different beat—filled with grief, shattered peace,
Where we used to dance, now thick and unyielding dust settles.
Fires burn where homes once stood,
Flames licking at memories, consuming lives into ash.
Our children, with their eyes wide open, stare at the world
That no longer speaks the language of their laughter.
War came like a shadow creeping over the land,
It murmured in the ears of brothers,
Turned friends into foes, villages into graves.
We wear the scars of stories untold,
Carved into skin and soil alike.
In the fields where we once planted hope,
Now only bones grow—ancestors and dreams
Lie buried in the same earth,
Cracked open by the weight of war.
Mothers cry into the wind,
Their voices carried across borders,
Looking for lost sons and daughters,
To the endless hunger of conflict.
Yet in the silence after the gun,
We find the strength to rebuild,
Brick by brick, soul by soul.
We braid the broken threads of tradition,
And sing again, though our voices tremble.
For we are the ones left standing,
The survivors with stories ingrained in our bones,
Who know that after fire comes rebirth,
After bloodshed comes the healing rain.
The trees will grow again,
And so will we—with roots deeply planted in this land,
That has seen us through storm and strife,
Through war and pain,
And still, we rise—scarred, but whole.
The spirit of unity, like glowing embers,
Flickers and burns,
Waiting for the wind to breathe it to life,
To set our hearts ablaze with hope once more.
And so will we—with roots deeply planted in this land,
That has seen us through storm and strife,
Through war and pain,
And still, we rise—scarred, but whole.
The spirit of unity, like glowing embers,
Flickers and burns,
Waiting for the wind to breathe it to life,
To set our hearts ablaze with hope once more.
