|
| |
To the Crown Prince
O brilliant son of the desert,
You rose through the maze of your House
With precision sharper than a blade.
The future trembles beneath your feet—
But power, untempered by wisdom,
Is a fire that devours its bearer.
Do not chase the glory of empires too fast.
Rome was not built in one day—
And neither shall a just Arabia.
You cannot serve two masters:
The West with its silver tongue,
And your people, whose eyes still hunger.
Choose neutrality not as weakness,
But as strategy.
Your true legacy lies not in gold towers,
But in lifting the soul of your nation.
Forsake not your brother, Iran.
To unite the Crescent is to raise a new dawn.
The blood of Gaza weeps through the sand,
And every drop asks:
"Where is our brother?"
Sunni, Shia, Sufi—one people,
Divided by politics, not by God.
To unite them is to write your name beside kings,
To divide them is to sow your own ruin.
Beware the advisors with smiles from Tel Aviv
And tongues sharpened in Washington.
They do not dream for you—
They only use your night to hide their shadow.
The Middle East can rise again,
But only if you learn this truth:
Real power is not feared,
It is trusted.
Copyright ©
Chanda Katonga
|
|