Poem
It started like any other day,
The sun climbed slow, the sky was gray.
Children laughed, the market stirred,
No one guessed what the wind had heard.
Then came the flash, the broken sound,
Smoke and fear covering the ground.
He had a choice, but ten lives were torn,
And people keep asking why hearts get worn.
The air grew still, the clocks stood wrong,
The city forgot its morning song.
Glass in the street, dust in the rain,
Every step replaying the pain.
Shoes left behind, a scarf in a tree,
Moments frozen in memory.
Posters fade, but the faces stay,
Smiling ghosts that don’t drift away.
A father waits where the sirens cried,
Counting the hours since the world replied.
A mother still calls though no one hears,
Her voice worn thin from all the years.
Some light candles, some stay apart,
Some carry fire inside their heart.
The nights feel longer, the air feels blurred,
Full of echoes in the siren unheard.
Yet life moves on, slow and unsure,
The wounds remain, but we endure.
In quiet streets their stories turn,
Ten small lights that still burn.
And when the dawn forgets its word,
When no one speaks but all have heard,
Their memory drifts through smoke and dirt,
As echoes in the siren unheard.
