Whispers of a Wounded Earth

By Ankit Rathore

Somewhere,

a child learns hunger

before alphabets,

her ribs sharper than the words

she has not yet spoken.

Somewhere else,

a mother folds grief like laundry,

neatly—

because tears don’t boil rice

and sorrow does not stop the clock.

Cities keep breathing—

coughing smoke,

dreams smudged into the sky,

skyscrapers rising like excuses

while the homeless build homes

from pieces of yesterday.

War hums in the distance,

a broken lullaby—

nations trade bullets and pride,

and the young carry histories

they never chose.

The earth trembles,

beneath feet that hurry

past the fallen,

past the hurting,

whispering not my story

as though pain knows borders.

And yet—

in the cracks of despair,

a hand holds another,

quiet as sunrise,

fragile as hope.

Suffering wanders everywhere,

a silent pilgrim—

but so does love.

And sometimes,

the world survives

on that single, trembling truth.

By Ankit Rathore