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I took a trembling island by the hand—
Barefoot children, broken streets,
A people shamed by foreign tongues,
Their dignity pawned for crumbs of aid.

I did not wait for the West to love us.
They called me tyrant,
Because I silenced the noise
That kept my people in chains.

They praised democracy—
Yet their own hands were stained
With centuries of empire and greed.
I chose order.
I chose sacrifice.
I chose silence over slogans.
And with it, we built a future
Brick by brick, law by law.

Do not ask me how Singapore rose.
Ask how long we stayed awake
While others slept under the weight
Of imported promises.

O Africa—
Your rivers are rich, your soil divine,
But your minds are colonized still.
They teach you to vote,
But not to think.
To speak,
But not to build.
To borrow,
But never to own.

Each time I see a hungry child in a land of diamonds,
I weep.
Not from pity—
But from rage.
Because I know:
With discipline,
With iron resolve,
You could rise.
But they keep you dancing to their tune—
A symphony of sabotage.

I made my nation clean not with prayers,
But with prison cells and planning tables.
We bled in silence,
So our children could shout in joy.

Let the West call you names—
It is better to be feared with dignity,
Than pitied in poverty.

The West said it was impossible.
But I said: it is possible.
We did it.
Now—will you?

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