In the cradle of stone, where the first fires burned,
Life tiptoed softly, while the pages turned.
Whispers of ancestors, in the wind they call,
From the heights of the mountains to the depths of the fall.

In unity and discord, we walked side by side,
Tracing the contours of love, hate, and pride.
Each heartbeat a story, each breath a refrain,
In the symphony played on the strings of our pain.

The rise of the empires, in opulence dressed,
Yet shadows of sorrow clung heavy to the blessed.
From the sands of the ages where pharaohs once stood,
To the echoes of freedom in every brotherhood.

Oh, the ink of the scholars, the brush of the art,
The canvas of history, framed deep in the...