Same Sky, Different Souls

By Aaradhya Sinha

You find it beautiful,

the whispers of moonlight,

the rustling of leaves,

the golden melt of the sun,

sliding down your balcony,

and the birds chirping by.

The sky,

so wide, so blue, so wondrous,

a canvas so perfect,

It almost feels divine.

Beneath it,

you dance, sing,

live, laugh, love,

and sleep—

all in peace.

Because somewhere,

Someone is out there

standing beneath that same sky,

blue, wide, and endless,

But to him,

It feels grey.

It feels like war.

To him,

who hasn’t tasted sleep in months,

who hasn’t had a full meal in months.

He doesn’t hear birds chirping,

He hears bullets

He hears rifles.

It’s the same sky,

but not the same silence.

The sky that’s soft and sacred to us

It is heavy for him,

laced with smoke,

caged with drones.

He doesn’t trace constellations,

or smile at the moonlight.

He scopes for shadows

in the dark.

And while you lie beneath

your soft, pearled blue

of lullabies and dreams,

He kneels beneath the sky-

He must guard,

while never once tasting its peace.

By Aaradhya Sinha