flowing through the veins of Minangkabau,
where knowledge and artistry entwine,
like dew resting on the edges of leaves,
piercing the mists of time, slicing through the silence of ages.
Bundo Raudha, we speak your name,
not merely an echo in the chronicles of history,
but a voice that penetrates the earth,
delving deep into the roots of the enau palm,
nurturing sprouts of hope in parched soil,
transforming forests into the pulse of life,
weaving dreams in the fertile fields of knowledge,
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