When Peace Falls Silent
2026-03-05
The world walks on a tightrope.
The continents creak like old wooden floors,
and people sleep with the light on,
not to see but not to remember the darkness.
In the streets, an uneasy dust blows.
It is not sand.
It is words spoken in anger,
promises that were not kept,
silences heavier than shouts.
And yet there were mornings when the sky was clear.
Times when the only sound was a window opening
and a child’s laughter in the courtyard.
Then peace walked among us,
quietly, almost humbly,
leaving traces of light on the floor,
sitting beside the bread on the table,
stroking the foreheads of children
when the world was just the world
and not a threat.
No one looked it in the eye.
It was invisible by habit.
Like the sky you don’t admire
until smoke hides it.
Human beings, strange gardeners of their own earth,
water carelessly what they believe to be immortal.
And when the leaves turn to ash,
they search for water with bare hands.
Then they remember.
Then they kneel before the word that once seemed small:
Peace.
They call it like a name
they never got to hold.
They seek it like light
someone once took for granted,
without gratitude.
And it not angry,
only fragile stands at the edge of time,
waiting for us to learn it,
not as necessity, but as miracle.
By Jo K.