The Echoes of Peace

Before the drums of war were born,

Peace walked barefoot through the dawn.

Her robe was woven from morning mist,

Her breath—a prayer the earth once kissed.

She wandered through the newborn lands,

Planting hope with gentle hands.

In riverbeds and fields of grain,

She whispered love through sun and rain.

In Ancient Days

When men first carved their dreams in stone,

And built their kingdoms, blood and bone,

She lingered near each builder’s heart,

Urging mercy to be art.

In Egypt’s light, beneath the Nile,

She rested for a little while;

And in the Vedas’ holy lines,

She sang through stars and temple shrines.

Philosophers in Athens spoke,

Of reason’s fire and conscience woke;

While sages under Bodhi trees,

Breathed her calm in endless ease.

Through Wars and Empires

Yet as the wheels of empires turned,

And thrones of gold and glory burned,

Peace hid behind the tears of slaves,

And whispered softly through their graves.

From Troy’s red dust to Rome’s bright flame,

She mourned each child without a name;

In every cry, in every scar,

She stitched her song beneath the war.

When knights rode forth with holy cries,

She fell from grace in blood-stained skies.

But still she bloomed where hearts would pray,

In secret nights, when swords gave way.

In the Age of Faith and Fire

She walked with saints through shadowed lands,

With open eyes and folded hands;

She spoke through poets—Dante’s tone,

Through lovers lost and martyrs known.

She watched the ships from Europe sail,

Their banners proud, their visions frail.

And when they brought both cross and chain,

Peace wept upon the foreign plain.

Through blackened fields and burned beliefs,

She wandered, quiet, through the griefs.

Yet still she found, in broken song,

The truth that hearts had known all along.

Through Revolutions and Ruins

When freedom’s fires began to rise,

She flickered bright in rebels’ eyes.

In France, in Boston’s whispered dream,

She glowed beneath the smoke and steam.

But freedom’s sword, once drawn in flame,

Too often carved her gentle name.

So she withdrew, yet not in shame—

For peace must fall, to rise the same.

The Modern Age

Then came the age of iron and steel,

Of thundered guns and nations’ zeal;

Through trenches deep and skies aflame,

She wandered, trembling, without a name.

At Ypres, Verdun, on Somme’s red clay,

She watched the youth of worlds decay.

And when the atom split the skies,

She covered earth with tearful eyes.

But from the ruins, from the ash,

She rose again with steady flash.

In poets’ pens, in leaders’ pleas,

In songs of hope across the seas.

Peace Reborn

Now she walks through streets of light,

Through voices calling for what’s right.

From Gandhi’s march to King’s bold dream,

She flows through time—a living stream.

She dwells in treaties signed at last,

Yet knows the future haunts the past.

For peace is not a fleeting hour—

It is a seed, a breath, a power.

So build her home in every mind,

In every act that’s just and kind.

For every heart that dares release,

The chains of hate—rebirths of peace.

Epilogue

She is no ghost of ancient art,

She beats within the human heart.

And though the world may fight and fall,

Her echo lives within us all.

When war is gone, and fear has ceased—

The soul will whisper: “This is peace.”