Our Poor Nations!

A paradise stolen and kept under the fallen, Subsidies and freebies given, but the houses barren, The rivers are the maidens ransacked by the demons, Lots of visions; a few and many yet to be our own. Chased away peasants arrive at every station, Hopes of heaven on the streets of the towns, Crumbled attires show thousands of tattered designs, Weeping eyes of young and old behind the curtain, Thousand little butterflies flown for generations, Beauty of them never appreciated; left to be the shame, Thousand acquired inspiration never meant to bloom, On the soil of the brave men and pious women, Let us arise from the drowsy dungeon of hibernation, The new fresh Sun and Moon emerge from horizon.