Read Time:53 Second
We are this chosen generation clashing embryonic cymbals of regeneration from the roof top of our imaginations to hardened regions of realization surviving cycles of depression There are times hope turns into rain drops in the quiet corner of our tongues Pacifying the thirsty desert that often surrounds our existence with rivers bursting forth from our bowels Pushing us all to prophesy as prophets stirring the bitter water of this frustrated planet with words that can create enduring legacies of lit smiles Beaming in the language of a new dawn Let incense of divine omens continue to inspire new narratives And let the wind of liberation ever live to whisper our names pay tributes to our miracle of rebirth