War in the pupils (Marcella Boccia)
There is war in the pupils of those who have seen too much, A battlefield hidden behind the quiet of their gaze, Where echoes of gunfire do not fade, Where the dead still whisper their unfinished names.
I have watched the children of ruin walk home at dusk, Their hands small, their shadows long, Carrying silence like an inheritance, Carrying absence where laughter should be.
The sky folds itself into mourning, Ash and prayers tangled in the wind, And the river swallows the weeping of the lost, Its currents heavy with stories That will never be told.
Tell me, How do you unsee what the eyes have carved into the soul? How do you close your lids Without feeling the weight of ghosts pressing against them?
There is war in the pupils of those who remember,A fire smoldering beneath the hush of their breath,And in the mirror of their gaze,Even love walks barefoot,Afraid to make a sound.In the quiet of their silence,Echoes of shattered dreams find their refuge,Fingers tremble as they traceThe scars that time has forgotten to heal.In their chest, hearts beatLike the distant thrum of a drumThat once called the brave to battle—But now, it only calls them home.The weight of history hangs heavy on their shoulders,Like the shadows of soldiersWho never made it back to their mothers.They carry it with grace,A burden cloaked in dignity,Yet in the hollow of their eyes,A storm rages—Unseen, but always there.And still, in the depth of their gaze,Where memories fade like the dying embers of a fire,There is a tenderness left untouched by time—A softness that trembles beneath the furyOf the war that rages in their souls.
