Growing up, we heard stories of war—
of how it didn’t just tear cities and borders,
but every life it touched.

As a child, I believed we were better than that.
That the world was changing.
That we would never return to such darkness.

But history has repeated itself—louder, bloodier.
The whole world feels like it's in survival mode.
There are so many wars,
sometimes it feels like the end is near.
Or maybe… I am cynical.

This poem is my attempt
to hold that anxiety,
to give shape to the sorrow.

This…
is The Language of Ashes.