By Hanshika Ujlayan
I can't find my child, the mother wades through shattered dreams, seeking the missing piece of her heart.
Her cries echo, miles away they carry, pleading for help in the darkness, as her four-year-old stands lost, torn apart.
The air thick with pain, her wails mix with the bombs that ravage the land, a retribution unjust, as peace departs.
Through ruined streets, she stumbles, her prayers laced with fear, hoping her child’s small breath hasn’t yet been cast.
Her bloody footsteps paint a path of despair, cruelty etched with each step, as she searches for the treasure she holds dear.
She falls to her knees, numb with horror, as a small hand emerges from the debris, buried by a world with no care.
Her screams choke, her throat too tight, and her eyes go dim, robbed of light and the future she can no longer share.
A lightning strike of realisation burns through her, as the weight of her loss crushes her soul in this political warfare.
Frantic, she removes the stones that now form her child’s grave, the battle no longer just fought in air, but in her heart’s tear.
Her blood freezes as she sees her baby, eyes wide open, but resting in a peace that only death could dare.
She screams at the heavens, curses those in power, their lies and greed have stolen her child’s future, laid it bare.
Holding her baby in her arms, cradling the cold, lifeless body, she weeps for a return that will never be there.
Around her, she sees a nation torn, not alone in her grief, but united in fragments, despair shared in the air.
The war has ripped through every soul, every home, leaving behind nothing but remnants of hope in a barren glare.
She pleads with the heavens, asking why such cruelty thrives, questioning if this is the fate of the innocent and fair.
Her gaze sweeps the ruins, the devastation endless, her people massacred, silenced by the greed of those who never care.
With her heart clenched tight, she looks down at her child once more, closing her eyes, surrendering her love to the divine's care.