From Blue to Green: Veins of Empire, Veins of Faith

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Blue blood spilled on sun-scorched sands,

Empire's grip with iron hands,

Ships like sharks with hungry prow,

Carving out the land, then kneeling low.

Crown and cross, a sacred, brutal pact,

Colonial spoil, no turning back.


Veins once chilled with distant, restless seas,

Mapped in charts, in looted treaties seized.

The desert's breath, the ancient mosque's call,

Bowed beneath the colonizer's thrall.

Churches rose where temples stood in grace,

A foreign God in every sacred place.

Whispers of a distant, gilded throne,

Echoes where the sun burns bone.

Mosques bowed low beneath the saber's gleam,

Faith, a whisper, a forgotten dream.

The colonist, with bible and with sword,

Proclaimed his truth, and plundered what he adored.


But time's tide turned the colors, deep and slow,

From icy blue to green's defiant flow.

Faith reclaimed the broken, shattered throne,

Roots of belief, wild where seeds were sown.

Green blood pulses, fierce and proud and strong,

Beneath the minaret, a vibrant song.

Yet power's crown can burn and blind the eye,

Despot's grip in faith, reaching for the sky.

If the goal is to create generations of subjugated poor and slaves,

Their race's thirst for freedom cannot be denied.


Green awoke in shadowed, hushed night,

A serpent coiled in flickering, treacherous light.

Roots that strangled ancient, sacred graves,

Power born in whispered, fervent waves.

The cry for 'God' a banner, sharp and keen,

To justify the plundering unseen.


Chains exchanged, but still they tightly bind—

Blue blood's ghost in green blood's troubled mind.

History's echo, harsh and lean and vast,

From blue to green, a future shaped by past.

Once the colonizer's law was writ in stone,

Now despot's decree—a harsher, local throne.

Faith's banner raised, yet shackled, bound so tight,

In the name of God, the silent, endless fight.


Blood of empire, blood of fervent creed,

Both entwined in endless, urgent need.

One ruled by crown, the other by holy sword,

Both silencing freedom's cherished word.

From the ruins of conquest's bitter shame,

Rose a green flame, yet tragically the same.

Chains of dogma, chains of bitter fear,

Different colors, but both blindingly unclear.


Blue blood's chill, green blood's consuming fire,

Two faces of one cruel, ancient empire.

In every drop, the past intensely remains—

Empire's scars, and faith's binding chains.

The very essence of the land, once stolen by the 'blue',

Now claimed and plundered by the 'green' anew.

A cycle spun, where truth and greed collide,

And freedom's yearning cannot be denied.


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