You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

"A photograph depicting a single, weathered hand emerging from a swirling vortex of ochre and burnt sienna dust, illuminated by the golden glow of a setting sun, capturing the essence of resilience and quiet defiance." The hand, adorned with delicate silver rings, reaches upwards, its knuckles subtly ...