Imprinted Agony

Flames devour the homes that once stood tall,
Silent whispers turn to screams that fall,
Into the night, where smoke obscures the sky,
And dreams of peace, like ashes, start to fly.

Villages crumble, memories scorched away,
In the heat of hatred, hope turns to clay.
The ground, stained by the blood of the slain,
Carries the echoes of their endless pain.

The streets are quiet, but the loss is loud,
Each tear a witness, each soul unbowed.
Yet many lie homeless, under broken stars,
Wounds invisible, yet deeper than scars.

Relief arrives, but can’t erase
The scars etched deep upon each face.
Their villages gone, their loved ones lost,
What is the worth, and what’s the cost?

In the camps, huddled beneath thin sheets,
Sorrow hangs heavy, as hunger competes.
Children gaze with hollow, haunted eyes,
As the future dims, beneath darkened skies.

Can time rebuild what hate has torn?
Can love return where such grief is born?
The heart remembers, though it yearns for calm.
These wounds remain, an imprinted agony.