Echoes Of The Ashes

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