Hail, Hera, Queen of Heaven, golden-crowned,

Who strides the stormclouds, thunder wrapped in grace,

Your scepter blazing flame no king dare bear,

And through your gaze, the world’s order bends.

This is your reign, immortal and serene,

Where the steel of justice cuts through tyrants’ chains.

Rise, fierce Goddess, shield of every Mother,

Of Daughters bound and voices struck to dust

Your name is a pulse that burns in silenced throats,

A thousand tongues unchained, fierce as the sea.

Your hand lifts mountains, breaks the yoke of lies,

And cracks the iron spine of faceless power.

Here, in your reign, let Women’s voices blaze,

The earth itself a throne beneath their feet,

And patriarchy’s shadow, old and stale,

Is swept like brittle ash before the wind.

No phalanx, no decree, no cage of law

Can dim the fire of Hera’s living will.

O Queen, who stands in strength and ageless grace,

Sovereign of Heaven, judge of Gods and men,

Teach us the power hidden in our hearts,

The wisdom born in pain, yet bright as the stars.

For this is your reign, unyielding and Divine,

Where tyrants fall, and truth, unveiled, shall rise.

So Mote It Be!