Children of a Broken Nation

A child throws a stone in the dust,

pretending it’s a toy car.

Another draws with chalk on the wall,

not knowing the wall

was once a shield against bullets.

Laughter spills from their lips—

but it is laughter carrying grief,

a borrowed joy stitched

onto the wounds of their parents.

They never chose these wars.

They never asked to inherit

a sky heavy with fire

and nights full of sirens.

And yet,

they still chase butterflies,

still play hide-and-seek,

still imagine futures

bigger than ruins.

What is more heartbreaking—

that they learn to dream anyway,

or that the world lets their dreams

become ashes again and again?

The children of broken nations

teach us something we forget:

hope does not die in rubble;

it whispers in small hands,

holding a tomorrow

they are still brave enough to build.

Thanks for reading 💜💜💜