Breath Between Borders Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

In the cold breath of the world,
a shadow stirred unseen, untamed, a thief of days and quiet nights.
SARS-CoV-2, a word like a whisper, rode the winds, crossed oceans, touched every sun, touched every home.
The world shivered a single word fell heavy: Pandemic.
Streets emptied.
Hospitals hummed like distant thunder.
Hands scrubbed hope from fingertips.
Masks became our prayers,
our shields, our silence.
Elders sat alone, their faces lined with fear, counting days in quiet rooms, hearing the world outside but unable to touch it.
Teacups grew cold, markets held their breath, mosques whispered to the sky.
People stayed away from each other, afraid of the invisible threat, mothers counted children twice, fathers washed hands as if to wash away fear.
Yet even in shadow, love found its shape bread left at doors,
voices carried through walls,
neighbors calling across silence.
Time flowed slow, as soft as dusk.
Science lit lanterns in dark corridors, dreams of vaccines held tight like fragile wings.
The storm receded, leaving scars, lessons etched deep in the bones of the world.
We breathe again altered, tender, knowing the smallest breath can bind the largest hearts.