*

In the shadow of bombed-out ruins,

children reach out for a hand that

is not there, tiny fingers grasping

only the thick air—

a ghostly remnant of shattered homes,

dust-heavy with shattered dreams.

*
Voices rise, fractured, and tangled,

cries mingling with the wail of sirens—

A soulless orchestra of grief,

its twisted symphony of fear and loss,

strung from the threads of suffering.

*

Mothers cradle emptiness, their eyes

searching for the faces of missing

family members beyond the rubble,

lost to senselessness, disappeared,

their frail humanity erased by war.

*
Lives scattered like ashes in the wind,

drifting across borders, carried by deadly

currents that do not care, unmoved by pain,

unfeeling to where the broken pieces fall.

*

A shadow sweeps over the silent villages

where once laughter once echoed freely

between the walls of homes

now turned to dust—

hope buried under nigrified earth.

*

The air is thick, and heavy with the scent

of scorched earth and despair,

the haunting quiet of lives uprooted,

echoing from places where histories end,

where even memory drifts to nothing.

*

In the chaos, faces blur in a gray haze,

names fade to whispers in the wind—

children clutch onto memories

they will forever keep, too young

to carry such weight, to understand.

*
A mother’s cry is swallowed up

whole by the roar, the relentless drum

of distant guns, the ache of loss

etched deep into her bones —

grief now etched where joy once lived.

*

Where do they go, these displaced lives,

their stories unwritten left unspoken,

wanderers drifting through shattered streets,

their futures stolen by the greed of war?

*
They wander through the wreckage,

searching for a place to belong,

for a glimpse of what was,

for what could have been.

*

But the world turns away, eyes averted,

deaf to the echoes of their pain,

to the sorrow in each quiet step,

blind to the ruin left in power’s wake,

the price paid by innocent lives.

*

And so, they go on, carrying

the weight of a history that is

not theirs to bear, having marked

them forever by inhumanity’s hand,

with no names for this sorrow—

no place where life finds rest.