The Day Before the Sirens
An ordinary morning unfolds under a calm sun while unseen global tensions quietly gather in the background.
This morning the sun rose
without checking the news.
It spilled gold over rooftops,
touched the river into brightness,
pretended nothing was gathering.
...
Children walked to school
with backpacks heavy as questions.
A woman argued gently with a vendor
about the price of oranges.
Somewhere, a train arrived on time.
...
On another continent,
a finger hovered over a button
no one admits exists.
...
We speak of peace
as if it were a treaty already signed,
framed and hung
above the fireplace of history.
We say the world has learned.
We say never again
with the confidence of survivors
who believe memory is armor.
...
But the maps keep shifting at night.
Borders itch beneath their ink.
Leaders clear their throats
into microphones that magnify breath
into thunder.
...
My brother checks the headlines
before brushing his teeth.
My mother checks the sky
as if it might answer her back.
I check the locks twice,
though I do not know
what kind of danger
would bother with doors.
...
Water boils at one hundred degrees Celsius.
...
The fear is not loud.
It does not march in boots
or wave a flag.
It waits in the ordinary—
in the grocery line,
in the quiet between notifications,
in the way conversations stall
when certain countries are mentioned.
...
We stockpile words:
deterrence, retaliation, defense.
We use them like blankets
to cover the shape
of something sharp underneath.
...
At night I imagine the sky
splitting open without warning;
not in flame,
but in silence so complete
it erases birds mid-flight.
...
And yet, tomorrow,
the sun will try again.
It will rise stubbornly,
touch rooftops,
warm rivers,
light the faces of people
who still dare to plant trees
whose shade they may never sit in.
...
Somewhere, someone will choose
not to press down.
Somewhere, someone will loosen
their grip on history’s throat.
The sirens have not begun.
That is the mercy.
That is the suspense.
(Dedicated to Hiroshima, the North and South West Regions of my Country Cameroon, and to World Peace)
About the Creator
Lori A. A.
Teacher. Writer. Tech Enthusiast.
I write stories, reflections, and insights from a life lived curiously; sharing the lessons, the chaos, and the light in between.
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Comments (1)
Wow. The beauty you evoke in the opening lines only to fill them with tension and eventually hope. This is a remarkable piece!