#The Soul's Echo:A Ballad of New Construction#

[نورالدين بليغ]

#The Soul's Echo:A Ballad of New Construction#

I. The Principle, Higher Than the Alphabet

Speak not of "Generation Z," nor pause upon the line,

Of letters that define a date, a journey, or design.

For the core is far more deep than any number placed on youth,

Or a banner waved and hailed by media, void of truth.

It is the First Nature, the rule fundamental and whole,

Written by the soul's clear water before the ink of the scroll.

Engraved within the city, in the heart of humankind:

That chaos is a prison, and darkness, a path left behind.

II. The True Quest: Refuting the Shade

To crush, to wreck, to shatter... these are never the aims,

Of Gen Z who seek other roads and pursue different names.

Their strength is not the flash, the clamor of the vandals' cry,

But the light that shines from loyal thought, beneath a watchful eye.

They strive to build a meaning, lift the new horizon high,

Not to ruin the heritage of a past that dares to try.

The fire that they nourish is not the one that will devour,

But the patient ardor creating a better, fairer hour.

III. The Destructive Hand, The Effort Torn Asunder

No, not for that hand which rises, a bitter spark of spite,

To strike down a great structure, or break the glass of pure delight!

Do you shatter what was built by many years of honest toil?

Disfigure the fair city, tear the garment from the soil?

No excuse for these actions, no matter who the actor may be,

Whether a digital sailor, whose engine is the Internet's sea,

Or an old one who watched how the foundation stone was laid,

In the dry and naked earth, humbly cemented, unafraid.

For the house is pride, the street, the shared vase of memory.

IV. Vandalism, The Mask of Defeat

Destruction is a black cloud that makes no distinction at all,

It ignores all the ages, the quiet language of change, at its call.

It's a rasping voice that breaks the bridges of debate so fine.

A cheap mask worn by noble pleas, losing their divine design.

A futile act, tearing up the map of all reform we plan,

With the fingernails of fury, outside the rules of man.

V. The Vow Upon the Light of Building

Public goods are the table that we must share as brothers should,

Private goods the labour's song, respect for the misunderstood.

May our voices be one instrument, sharp in tone, without end:

Rejection is final, like the sun that the heavens lend.

Against all the fury that clothes itself in Right, yet is a painful blight,

Against the demolition that hides behind the verbal roar of night.

We are the architects of tomorrow, with hope within our hold,

Not searchers for the cold ashes of a past story told,

But for the future garden that will bloom in justice and grace,

Where the Edifice will be our noblest identity and place.

#NOUR EDDINE BALIGH#