Tajikistan

Rivers running, gushing winds,
All is cleansing for the race,
When masses will thus gather,
And of a past, erase

All the ill begotten things
Which caused us all such pain,
The fear and hatred of a people
Who, once again, remain

The King and Queen of earthly toil,
Who dominate below,
And guide all other life imbued
With ignorance and show.

But in the storm of measure,
Where sin will be removed,
A love and wisdom flow displayed
Will replace the old, behooved.