United in hope, we can rest the dust around us,

With the ardor, we can gyre the wilderness; push the course; settle the confusion.
Did we ever know that we can be married, in a wish to see the bull’s eyes?
That one day, we can remove the cocky mammoth from its mantle;

Without mushing, but with our tied, flabby hands?
Did we ever know that we can raise the flag
With one finger, without shivering?

But we did it, mixed in a mortar;
Though, day and night, we’re being severed,
Derailed with derogatory tirade; thick tribal and holy division.

But today, the hope of being free is our glue, our compass;

And we thrashed the swanky mammoth, mixed in a mortar.
We should not let the glue melt, it’s our last fragile hope.
Our hope is nigh, a month away.

Our hope is greater than us,
But it is dust, whirling; it can be eased;
It’s the last drop of water from a spoilt tap, but can be fixed and collected;
It’s with a flea, consuming us, but the vermin can be negated;
The hope, today, is wispy but only together, we can hold the dust;
Together, our might can secure the lost courage;
Together, we can rest the plague and build our nation.

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