They come with little in their hands, from burned-out homes and broken lands. Their hopes are packed in bags of thread, their pasts erased, their futures bled. The children walk through desert air, their fathers drown in deep despair. No one who leaves a home intact will ever choose a life like that. But those who watch them at the gate are tired too, and bear their weight. They se...

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We carry wounds which no one sees, Stripped bare by the world's quiet indifference. A life lost, forgotten by time's cruel hands, Moments of sorrow fade beneath others' noise. A bomb bursts, its weight unseen, And the rubble settles—no one comes to mourn. We sit with our aching bodies, Alone in a world that turns its back. A sickness takes root, And the world moves on—too busy, too ...

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