The Silence Between Bullets Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

Three years have passed, yet the earth still shakes with memories of fire. A homeland that once flourished in green hope now lies shrouded in the dust of sorrow, its sky weighed down with tears that refuse to fall. A relentless wind named war swept through its veins, devouring fields and futures, leaving behind empty doorways, forgotten names, and a haunting silence where laughter used to echo. From the billowing smoke, a fragile word emerged: victory. But what kind of victory can endure when mothers bury their light and children inherit fear instead of dreams?

In the language of ruin, there are no winners only broken hearts learning to grieve. Listen closely between the sounds of gunfire, and you'll hear the soft rise of questions: How long will pain linger? How long will hope wait at the edge of tomorrow? Across dusty roads, through quiet villages, and within cities that no longer find rest, a heavy silence is carried by weary souls. Hunger whispers in empty homes, fear walks alongside every step, and exile etches its name into the wind.

Let the cry rise like a sun that refuses to set: No more blood. No more loss. No more of a homeland hurting its own heart. Let the weapons lay down, and let open hands tell a different story. For no nation is built from the ashes of its children, but from understanding, from forgiveness, from seeing one another again with human eyes. This land, gentle like rain and strong like roots beneath the earth, has always known how to rise again. Its diversity is not division but beauty; its voices are not noise but a song waiting to be whole.

Let every lost path find its way back to peace. For the homeland is vast enough to embrace every heart if only they choose to beat together. Let blame fall silent, for love of a nation is not found in words but in what is given, in what is healed. Now, in this delicate moment, peace is not just a choice; it is the only way forward. Hold what remains. Heal what is broken. Let hope rise again, not as a distant dream, but as a promise we choose to keep.