By Ash Ash
Upon the slopes where Taitu found,
A spring of warmth, a fertile ground,
Addis Ababa, the New Flower bloomed,
In Menelik’s hands, Ethiopia’s fate was groomed.
He brought the light, electricity’s spark,
Water flowed, the darkness stark,
Telephones rang, the railways spanned,
Modernity woven in Menelik’s land.
Bureaucracies rose, education spread wide,
Addis, the anchor where dreams would collide.
But storms would gather, shadows would fall,
The fascists came with blood and gall.
Mussolini’s men, Graziani’s spree,
Thirty thousand souls set forever free.
Days of horror, a city’s cry,
In Addis Ababa, where hope seemed to die.
Yet from the ashes, the Lion returned,
Haile Selassie, whose heart still burned,
With schools and hospitals, knowledge took root,
Modern high-rises, a forward pursuit.
The OAU found its home here, strong,
Addis, Africa’s voice, where it belongs.
But peace was fleeting, for tyranny’s flame,
The Derg’s iron fist brought nothing but shame.
Blood in the streets, rights torn asunder,
The reign of terror, a people’s thunder.
And then came the TPLF’s cruel design,
Ethnic chains, corruption’s line.
Now Abiy stands, yet what do we see?
A flower trampled, justice set free?
No—kleptocracy wears a new face,
The Oromo elite take the Tigray’s place.
Tyranny reigns, as it did before,
In Addis Ababa, where cries roar once more.
O Addis, the cradle, the symbol of pride,
When will you rise, when will truth abide?
From Menelik’s light to the darkness we tread,
Your petals are bleeding, yet hope is not dead.
The city’s pulse, from past to now,
Demands redemption—a future somehow.
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