I am the rose that grew in the desert.
I am the miracle of adversity.
For I bow not to the harsh winds but, I humble before one.
My petals tainted though I still shine.
My fragrance faint, still stronger than that which holds me together.
My sustenance faith and my light eternal, no slumber overtake it nor sleep.
I am the hope of the wanderer, the hands of the slave.
I am the voice of the weak, the patience of the poor.
I am the seed of 1600 years of struggle.
My roots deeper than the oceans.
I am of the progeny of kings and conquerors.
My kin the poor and the slave.
My audience new.
My message the same.
Peace!!!