My Lasting Minutes

They said we were lucky, the free and the bold,
On sunburnt soil with hearts of gold.
But silence crept in where thunder once rolled,
And freedom was bartered, then quietly sold.

They whispered of safety while chaining our minds,
With laws wrapped in virtue, and sweet-sounding binds.
They censored our speech and erased our past,
Replacing our courage with systems that won’t last.

They taxed the builder and paid the lazy,
Made the truth taboo and called the sane crazy.
Boys taught to hate the men they should be,
Girls told to kneel to identity’s decree.

Yet under the ash, the coals still glow—
A rumble beneath where real men know.
This land isn’t lost, not yet, not quite—
But only if some of us choose to fight.

Not with fists, nor blood in the street,
But with fire in hearts and boots on concrete.
With words unbowed and truth spoken clear,
With courage that won’t bend to cowardly fear.

So rise, old lion, your back is not broke.
The chains are illusion, the leash is a joke.
The quiet will roar, and the sleepers will burn,
When the battlers remember—it’s our bloody turn.