Echoes of a War We Cannot Touch - 00031
In a time when war returns to Europe, its impact is not only visible in shattered cities but reverberates in the quiet corners of ordinary life. The war in Ukraine, though geographically distant for some, seeps into hearts and minds—especially among the young. For many, it feels surreal, disconnected, yet unbearably real. It fractures trust in the future and leaves behind shadows of fear.
This photographic series is a meditation on vulnerability, longing, and the silent need for warmth and embrace.
Now, more than ever, we need closeness. We need home to be a place of refuge.
Poem: “A Future Held in Ash”
They told us war was history,
a chapter closed,
a lesson learned.
But here it comes again,
not marching,
but leaking in through screens
and fragments of foreign languages
we never meant to understand.
Children dream in shades of blue and gold,
not knowing whether flags
mean freedom or farewell.
We carry the weight of sirens
in our chests,
even as birds still sing
from tiled rooftops
and coffee brews
in morning kitchens.
There is silence now
in the laughter of youth—
a pause,
a flicker of eyes
toward a horizon that trembles.
And in that trembling
we gather closer,
build fortresses of softness:
woollen blankets,
a hand across the table,
an unspoken vow
to make home a sanctuary.
Even if the sky breaks open—
let us hold each other
through the noise.
Three Haikus
1.
News breaks like glass panes
and the wind carries the fear—
still, we light the stove.
2.
A knock in the night—
no soldiers at our doorstep,
but still we don't sleep.
3.
In your quiet arms
the war cannot enter here—
for one breath, we're safe.
Echoes of a War We Cannot Touch - 00031
In a time when war returns to Europe, its impact is not only visible in shattered cities but reverberates in the quiet corners of ordinary life. The war in Ukraine, though geographically distant for some, seeps into hearts and minds—especially among the young. For many, it feels surreal, disconnected, yet unbearably real. It fractures trust in the future and leaves behind shadows of fear.
This photographic series is a meditation on vulnerability, longing, and the silent need for warmth and embrace.
Now, more than ever, we need closeness. We need home to be a place of refuge.
Poem: “A Future Held in Ash”
They told us war was history,
a chapter closed,
a lesson learned.
But here it comes again,
not marching,
but leaking in through screens
and fragments of foreign languages
we never meant to understand.
Children dream in shades of blue and gold,
not knowing whether flags
mean freedom or farewell.
We carry the weight of sirens
in our chests,
even as birds still sing
from tiled rooftops
and coffee brews
in morning kitchens.
There is silence now
in the laughter of youth—
a pause,
a flicker of eyes
toward a horizon that trembles.
And in that trembling
we gather closer,
build fortresses of softness:
woollen blankets,
a hand across the table,
an unspoken vow
to make home a sanctuary.
Even if the sky breaks open—
let us hold each other
through the noise.
Three Haikus
1.
News breaks like glass panes
and the wind carries the fear—
still, we light the stove.
2.
A knock in the night—
no soldiers at our doorstep,
but still we don't sleep.
3.
In your quiet arms
the war cannot enter here—
for one breath, we're safe.