Echoes in the Ashes
Two shadows stretch across time’s cracked mirror—
Nagasaki’s sky, still smoldering,
Gaza’s streets choked with tomorrow’s ghosts.
The same silence hangs between them:
a century’s breath, heavy with unlearned lessons.
We tally the cost in children’s names
etched on walls, in small bones buried
beneath rubble—arithmetic of the forgotten.
History stutters, repeats its grim script:
*ideology’s blade, politics’ cold calculus.*
When does a life weigh more than a flag?
When do we kneel to gather the scattered
shards of family trees, splintered by thunder
that calls itself *progress*?
Indifference is a currency; we spend it freely.
But the earth remembers what we bury—
every scream roots deep, blooms into stone.
Speak their names. Not as footnotes, but as kindling.
Ignite the air with demands that scorch
the hands clutching war’s playbook.
Let Nagasaki’s ashes be the soil
where we plant Gaza’s cease-fire—
a forest of fists raised, not in anger,
but to cradle the fragile flame
of *what if*.
Dignity has no borders.
It breathes
or burns
with us all.
— MyKoul