The city lay barren, an apocalyptic landscape,
its silence deafening, mortally eerie.
No mothers spared; children cried—
just ashes where the homes used to be.
A waif moved in shock through the waste,
clutching a doll, its face displaced.
Her name unknown, no one to hold—
just a child, trembling and cold.
Beyond the pain, a flickering light,
a haven, a cave just ahead.
Luminous flames of life then burned,
to calm the heart and clear the mind.
War crept in, the silent assassin,
but courage rose, defiant and tall.
It sparked the stubborn ember of hope in the dark—
and turned despair into a rising spark.