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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required On the plain of oblivion, where dreams lose their color under the leaden sky, Our country stretches like a canvas of memories unraveling in the wind, Here, where politicians are the shadows of extinguished times, without echo, We have witnessed a theater of the absurd, with thieves dressed as saints, Minds bright only in the selling of illusions, while dignity withered away, Deputies who traded their words for the gold of smuggled dreams, And in the grand hall of history, we shamefully failed the test of maturity, Under Europe's cold gaze, we were just a land of scoundrels, a whisper among shouts, Neither the enemy's armies nor their fierce cannons brought us down, For the disease that gnaws at us comes from the depths of our weary souls, A silent epidemic of moral meningitis that has taken our luster and hope. In the silence of the night, when the moon casts its gaze over our desolate fields, I feel how the heart of the country beats faintly, like an echo in an abandoned cathedral, We collapsed not under the weight of our enemies, but under the burden of our own betrayals, For this disease is unseen, yet it consumes us from within, a cancer of the spirit, And yet, among the ruins of lost dreams, there still flickers a flame, A longing for rebirth, for cleansing, to find the path back to light, to ourselves, In the midst of this epidemic of forgetfulness, to find the strength to rise, To heal from the shadows of the past, to rediscover who we truly are, For under this leaden sky, there is still the hope of a new dawn, A silent call to regain our dignity, to rise from the ashes, To be more than a minor country, to become a tale of courage and light.
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