The Watermelon Speaks

Beneath a sky that swallows light,
Where olive roots cling, holding tight,
A fruit grows bold, its colors shout,
What they tear down, we dream about.

Red as blood, green as land,
Black as nights we cannot stand,
White as hope in children's eyes,
The watermelon never lies.

They steal the flag, the song, the stone,
But cannot claim what we have grown.
A bite, a gesture, small yet wide,
A nation's pulse, a people's pride.

In every seed, a story lives,
Of all they take, and all love gives.
Taste it—freedom sharp and sweet,
A quiet war you cannot beat.