We were born on a land of dreams, yet raised on empty promises, grown in cities fertile with nepotism, choked by capitalism, still clinging to nationalism. We witnessed thrones fought over, laws aborted, police turned into puppets in the hands of power that worships deceit. We learned from the wounds left by mad leaders— unashamed to lie, tongues sharpened to silence the people. We are the children drowning in corruption, where greedy hands hoard dirty money while we fight endless battles of emotion, provoked without end. Injustice became our second name. Round and round, rulers change, yet darkness stays the same. Behind their masks lie intentions to feed themselves, tempted without restraint, crowning the devils within. Is it too bleak to say our only hope lies in the young? The ones who never falter, who listen, who bleed, who march, who break, yet rise again to resist the men in uniform. They stumble, dragging tired feet, yet flames in their chests burn brighter still— from tyranny’s blaze, from sweat that refuses to stop, from youth that will not die. They never surrender. They search for fragments of hope in this weary land, a land of deception and emptiness, wilted by power that kills, faded by mottos that collapse. Stay whole, my friends, keep your fire alive. Do not turn away from meaning— Bhinneka Tunggal Ika. Let us step upon that house, the theater of absurd politics, where men in ties dance in orations, feasting on the forbidden, gambling with our future. Let us reclaim this country stained by their hands. Let us rewrite history with voices unbroken. We are the generation of embers— and from this explosion a new land shall rise, whole and free.