Poems by Thi Lan Anh Tran, Germany/Viet Nam & Musharraf Hussain, India

WHEN DIALOGUE BECOMES MISSILES


I.

You asked me

why airports

are always the easiest places to wound.

I looked at a terminal roof
torn open to the sky,

where a dark-winged object

had fallen

like a reproach

unable to find its way home.

People call it war.

But I think

it is a love affair gone too far,

until every conversation

turns into a missile.

II.

Some nations

resemble former lovers.

Once,

they stood beside the sea,

watching ships

cross a narrow strait.

Then one day,

every wave carried suspicion,

every lighthouse

became a military target.

The sea remained blue.

Only the human heart

was under blockade.

III.

You said:

"If you are hurting,

must the whole world pay the price?"

I gave no answer.

Beyond the window,

another city

was rising in smoke.

For in hearts accustomed to power,

pain never travels alone.

It drags behind it

airports,

sleeping children,

departures that never leave,

and strangers

who had nothing to do with it.

Just as when you left me.

The wound remained in my chest,

yet it was innocent days

that bled.

IV.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy

is not that missiles still fly,

but that people have heard explosions

for so long

they no longer remember

the sound of an apology.

Not because they do not desire peace.

But because they fear

the first hand extended

may be mistaken for weakness.

And so the night sky

keeps blooming with fire,

while the fields

are denied the light

of dawn.

V.

I think of you

among maps crowded with borders.

How strange.

Humanity can divide the world

into hundreds of nations,

yet cannot divide

a single longing.

They can blockade an entire sea,

but cannot blockade

a heart

trying to find its way home.

VI.

If one day

the guns fall silent,

the drones belong only to museums,

and airports welcome loved ones

instead of smoke and sirens,

I hope the statesmen

will finally understand

what lovers have always known:

that the finest victory

is not the defeat of the other,

but the moment

when both can still see each other

in peace.

The way I see you.

After all the wars

of my life.

Author:
Thi Lan Anh Tran
Aschaffenburg, Germany

Musharraf Hussain
Assam, India

© Copyright 2026
All Rights Reserved.



CALLING DAWN IN MY HOMELAND


Dawn opens wide the sky of home,
Soft birds awake through fading foam.
The mist grows thin, the night grows light,
As heaven breathes into the sight.

Warm sunlight spreads across the land,
Like gentle touch from unseen hand.
It heals the roofs, the quiet streets,
Where memory and morning meet.

The wind drifts softly through the trees,
Whispering old vows in the breeze.
It stirs the silence, deep and low,
Where sleeping afternoons still flow.

I hear the hidden voice of day,
That calls the restless heart away.
A quiet force beneath the skies,
That wakes the earth and never lies.

The homeland opens, still and true,
Yet turns to love in every view.
Even the path of earth and stone
Feels like a heart no longer lone.

Dawn stands in silence, calm and bright,
And listens to the world take flight.
The earth itself begins to sing,
In every breath the morning brings.


Author: Thi Lan Anh Tran, Germany/Viet Nam & Musharraf Hussain, Indian

© Copyright 2026 , All Rights Reserved.