A Land Yet to Bloom

I dream of a land where voices shine like sunlight,

where truth rises with the dawn,

stretching across every street, every city,

warming the faces of those long left in the cold.

A land where words are not muffled by power,

where no one is forced to whisper their worth,

where every voice, no matter how small,

is a beam of light piercing the dark.

I dream of a land where currency flows like water,

clear, endless, reaching all hands.

No drought in the working-class wells,

no flood drowning the privileged few.

A land where wealth is not a weapon,

but a river that nourishes all,

where no child is left thirsty,

no dream dies of starvation.

I dream of a land where the soil is rich,

where cities stand not on broken backs,

but on ground that holds steady beneath every step.

A land where roots are never severed,

where homes are not stolen by greed’s relentless wind.

Where the air is pure,

the streets alive with purpose,

and no one fears being uprooted overnight.

I dream of a land where the sunlight is never dimmed,

where the water never runs dry,

where the soil never turns to dust.

A land not built on promises,

but on hands that plant,

on hearts that give,

on people who know that to grow,

we must nourish every root,

we must let every voice rise,

we must let the river run free.

I dream of this land.

And I wake,

knowing it is ours to build.