In shadows cast by ancient rule,
Where silence served the tyrant’s tool,
A whisper stirred the sleeping air—
A breath, a spark, a bold dare.

The streets were cold, the sky was gray,
But hearts grew loud with things to say.
The drums of doubt began to pound,
As truth rose up from underground.

A single voice, then two, then more,
Broke through the cracks of fear and war.
No longer bowed, no longer chained,
They named the price, and none refrained.

A banner raised, not stitched with gold,
But inked with hopes the brave had told.
Each word a wound, each tear a flame,
Each step a storm, each face a name.

The world stood still—then shook and spun,
As dawn announced what must be done.
Not with a roar, but with a song,
The revolution had begun.