War Has No Grave

War is never truly buried. Its graves are shallow— and grief,

like bloodline,

passes down in silence.

The ache reshapes itself—

a lullaby sung too softly,

a pause between a mother’s words, a tremble in the way we love, always ready to lose.

We survive, yes.

But what is survival,

if our bones still hum

with the ruins

of everything we had to leave behind?