Against the backdrop of a leaden sky, where dreams lie shattered

Against the backdrop of a leaden sky, where dreams lie shattered, Beneath the heavy burden of pain, with echoes in sacred silences, I lay down verses at dusk, where words are lost to the wind, A saga of melancholy, an echo of a cry too holy. What a heavy, insufferable load, begins my labored whisper, How to tell, to the grandchildren, of the country that once shone? We had the most beautiful land, a dream under sun and star, And we left it, unforgivingly preyed upon, to thieves without a bad omen. My guilt scorches my face, in fiery red, in awakened conscience, For the country where ancestors lie, we lost through neglect, through folly. We defended it with lives for thousands of years, and lost it in a quarter-century, A tragedy, a curse that descends heavily, on shoulders, a sack. Scoundrels, idiots, you've seated yourselves at the helm, with lies, with cold eyes, With pockets warm, filled with shattered dreams, with fates sealed forever. How did you bring us, behold, to this point, with hollow promises, with biscuits, And stole our vote, deceiving, in guffaws, the country cries under torrential tears. Look in the mirror, see? On your brow is written, traitors, No curse greater than your own conscience, with pains and dawns. And you, with smiles on your faces, have buried parents and hopes, From their meager pensions, you have built palaces, from suffering, balances. From kin, you've made us a nation of exiles, of beggars and the lost, Venom in words, in phrases, in speeches, day by day, you've doled out. Culture, a burden, in your ignorance, you've vulgarized a nation, And in Parliament you've gathered, an assembly of pickpockets and madness. Shame on you, the country cries, in pain and tears, Resign, if you have a shred of decency left, among condemnations. The country is in emergency, it cries out, no longer willing to pay for you, Resign, return to caves, to rubbish. And when the country will demand an account, one day, in an end, You will have to answer, not just before people, but also morally. Sick jackals, the noose tightens, and in silence, the outcry rises, For a country, a people, who in the desire for change, never give up. Thus, in long and melancholic verses, the story unfolds, A bitter lesson, but necessary, for a people still learning to learn. Beneath the heavy burden of the past, toward a future that can still be bright, Poetry, a beacon, a ray of hope, in a future that seems endlessly overshadowed.