History hums like an old gramophone

  History hums like an old gramophone,

scratched and stubborn, playing the same tune again.
Every revolution starts in a bright major key —
the sound of freedom, fresh and fierce.
But before long, the harmony bends,
and the rhythm of hope slows to the march of power.

New leaders rise,
old habits return,
and the people who dreamed the loudest
find themselves listening to the same song —
just with different voices.

Yet somewhere, beneath the noise and brass,
a faint melody still lingers.
It’s the sound of what could be —
the note that refuses to die,
the whisper that says
the music isn’t over yet.