Sometimes words don’t require a flag to convey the most important things. This poem is about those who await the morning, even if all around them lies ruins.
🌿
Where the olive tree bends to the breeze,
And children sketch dreams on the walls,
There lives a silence that once was a song—
A springtime refrain, not the echo of falls.
Dust on the doorstep — not choice, but time,
A stone in the palm — not anger, but shield.
Each dawn arrives like a prayer for a home,
Where skies don’t shatter, and wounds can be healed.
Let roots return to the soil they knew,
Let voices be heard beyond sorrow’s disguise.
For the right to a morning, to bread, to a smile—
Is no gift, but a truth under open skies.
And if you can hear — don’t judge, don’t flee.
Just remember: the world has its children.
They ask not for thrones, nor borders, nor flags—
They ask for a home. And a little light.
Let everyone who sees this image remember: light is not a luxury, but a right. And children are its first bearers.