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In Marked Territory

In the raw expanse of land where rivers sigh, marked by the shadows of cats and dogs, with each puddle of yellow reminding us of lives once lived, hearts bound to the earth, clinging to dreams and dirt, tattered trails of hope. Here, in this ground—a theater of wars, hands bloodied, crushed under the weight of ambitions framed in stones, lives shatter along a barbed wire, cutting jagged maps, while mothers cradle lost futures in their arms. Children’s laughter, a distant echo, as lilacs bloom defiantly against the past’s relentless hands. Still, the weight of time presses heavy; cliffs of doubt rise, unyielding, and the sun, despite shadows, spills gold on the backs of workers bending on fields. Behind fences, gardens grow wild, the heart of kin bleeding cinnamon scents, and oh, if the moon could grasp!— kneeling in a field of sorrow, each quiet mother whispers a prayer for peace to sweep as breeze through reeds, as stars that drown the sky in quiet dreams. Yet it spins on—this world, this home, a canvas painted with fire and hope, woven tightly with the threads of struggle. And just as ashes bestow rise to life, the phoenix blinks, reborn— after the storms of blood and soil, by the lake where the hummingbirds dance, we will rise again, unbroken, finding light in the whispers of trees, where the fight for future spreads as a smile. In the land where borders bleed, a marked territory, a silence follows— where echoes of ancient men hang in the air as smoke from a distant fire, where wolves guard the lines with ferocity, their eyes bright, restless, and the sweet songs of birds turn to warnings, the sharp notes of a faraway war. Fields once painted in gold become shadows in the wake of lost souls, children left behind in a cluttered world of barbed wires, twisted metal, and heavy hearts cradling dreams of a garden, of lilacs dancing in the warmth of an untouched sun. Strangers mark their territories as thirsty dogs— a trail of liquid gold runs deeper. Men sharpen elbows in the street, scramble for patches of earth to throw their flag, their faith, their will, trampling roses to barricade the gardens, forgetting—there's gracious and atrocious in every religion, and blood stains porcelain feet. Women cradle hope, fold it into the elbows of their children, yet bombs rain down, splitting innocence, destroying schools cloaked in chalk and laughter, while prayers whisper across broken roofs, echoing in crimson sky, in stained hands. Terror sows seeds— will we bury in grief, or bloom in our common spirit, for hope, once fallen, is not yet gone but rising, roots strained through the cracks of a heart. And as suns dip below ruined hills, we reach across our marked spaces— to beg, to listen, to fold at the edges, to find the friends hidden amidst the fear, of making soil rich again with rivers of laughter, the cloak of smoke wrapping love's voice, calling soldiers home. With one pulse, one beast of burden wandering the epicenter, raw and alive. We remember: that humanity was once a broader shade— let’s paint again, blend, embrace, and guard what preciousness can bloom? In the dawn's soft breath, dogs mark their turf beneath the pines, urine tracing lines, as if to claim the world, fierce like colonizers crying out for land, buildings crumbling where children played, blood painting the streets, a curtain of smoke smothering stars. Homes turned to ruins, history erased, the laughter of kin swallowed by silence where echoes of dreams once danced in gardens humming lilac scents, now filled with the whispers of ghosts, their eyes searching for a way back, for peace buried under barbed wire and fences. But even in ruin, life dares to rise— a child's smile, the warmth of a mother’s cradle, tender as a bee weaving through blooms, while warriors stand ready, hearts battling hope, knights for both love and loss, yet, amidst this earth’s broken skin, every breath tells a tale of survival. As boundaries blur, worlds collide, the cadence of sorrow swells beneath our skin, and for all the darkness, a flicker of light remains—raw and underlying, a promise that one day, we might find our way home again.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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Date: 10/25/2024 10:47:00 AM
WOW!!! I enjoyed reading this write. Great Ending... "Good Luck"  Have a blessed day writing away...............
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Date: 10/21/2024 5:05:00 AM
Your poem is a profile of sadness and emotions. There is a sense of turbulence everywhere. Could we rely on a promise that things will be right again? I wonder.
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Date: 10/20/2024 1:09:00 PM
An excellent write. Your poem paints a stark yet poignant landscape of war, displacement, and survival, where the boundaries between hope and despair blur under the weight of history. From the opening lines, the imagery of a "raw expanse of land where rivers sigh" and "puddles of yellow" introduces a sense of desolation, with lives once vibrant now reduced to shadows of their former selves. The mention of animals, like "cats and dogs," adds a raw, animalistic quality to the scene, as if nature itself mourns alongside humanity.
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Date: 10/20/2024 12:32:00 AM
What can I say - not only is this an intense poem Dear Soto, but it must have taken you ages to compose it - or did it? Yes wars are so senseless - I'm not sure where these despotic so called leaders come from - pain and suffering is all they wreak and havoc. I am all in agreement with you closing lines - 'a promise that one day, we might find our way home again.' Hugs Maria
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Date: 10/19/2024 7:57:00 PM
This is a tender write; I think it should be shared all over, not just at PS. I appreciate it and you. :)
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things