The Breath That Remains Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

Can a wounded heart breathe again?
Seasons of fire have come and gone,
and life's rhythm feels a bit off
a once vibrant pulse now falters
under the heavy weight of loss.
Twelve million souls
carrying only memories of home,
walking away from doors that once welcomed them,
held together by nothing
but the sheer will to survive.
Hunger whispers softly, yet insistently
in nineteen million empty spaces,
in nights that stretch on forever,
in the fragile hope
that tomorrow might bring enough.
Aid continues to flow,
navigating through danger and distance,
pushing back against the tide of despair,
but its strength is fading,
its reach uncertain.
The streets remember
they remember laughter,
the simple beauty of everyday moments,
the footsteps that once filled life with joy.
Now they stand in silence,
walls echoing stories that go unheard,
time frozen where life once thrived.
And still, the question lingers,
not loud, but deeply human:
Can a wounded heart breathe again?
Perhaps,
if compassion arrives before it's too late,
if giving becomes louder than silence,
if the world chooses to see,
to feel,
and not look away.