عربي 
EN 
By: Dr. Adnan Bozan
When the donkey rises carrying the pen, letters turn into shackles that bind minds, and papers into empty mosques where only ignorance prays. Writing becomes a crime, thought a graveyard, and the homeland a stage where stupidity dances upon the corpses of truth.
And when the criminal seizes the rifle, the earth trembles beneath his feet, the sky cries blood at his tyranny, and bullets rain down like black storms, killing serenity before bodies, planting in every heart a fear that never heals. Every street becomes a battlefield, every house a fortress of dread, until the homeland itself turns into a nightmare from which no one awakens.
As for the traitor in power, he is the serpent that swallows dreams, binding the law with the iron ropes of cowardice and greed. He tears justice apart and leaves it naked, shattered, before everyone. No voice rises but the echo of his betrayal. Cities become deserts without hope, street names mere symbols without soul, and people wandering spirits searching for a homeland that died before it was born.
And when corruption sits upon the throne of administration, institutions turn into furnaces of conflict, files pile up like heaps of lifeless corpses, and decisions scream into a deadly void. Employees trade conscience as they trade bread. The homeland becomes a jungle of dead trees, their leaves falling lifeless to the ground, emitting nothing but the creak of ruin—the earth’s own cry against those who destroyed it.
As for the media, that false mask of awareness, it turns into a distorted mirror: adorning lies with ornaments, selling betrayal clothed as truth, feeding the people poison disguised as food. Thus the mind dies before the body, and the homeland becomes a prison where every ray of light is assassinated. Laughter at crime becomes a daily certificate of the conscience’s murder.
When these elements converge, the homeland becomes a jungle without sun, without water, without air—a jungle of ruin, where dead trees are tossed by poisoned winds, the earth cracks beneath human feet, and minds crumble like withered leaves in an eternal autumn. Nothing remains but the echo of betrayal and the voice of the jungle that swallowed every dream and abandoned humanity without mercy.
But the jungle is not the end. Within every shattered stone, within every groaning heart, hides a light that refuses to be extinguished. It waits for the one who will lift the pen with reason, who will raise the rifle in defense of justice, who will hold power with integrity, who will govern without greed, who will write in the media with truth. Then ruin will be uprooted, the dead jungle will return to a garden alive with vibrancy, a homeland where justice blossoms, where freedom sings, where a new hope grows—breaking the chains of darkness, restoring the heartbeat to hearts, and proving that humanity can overcome savagery, no matter how immense.