Scars of History and Invisible Borders

Reflection by Marocchino

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Borders that are scars of history, frontiers dividing us,
Where others' dreams hold more worth.
Separated by an ocean, yet all in the same boat, under the same sky,
First class or not—in the crash, we are all the same.

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Two cries intertwine, two destinies brush against each other,
The cries of those born and those who die,
While war laughs in the middle,
Master over lives and deaths.

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Amid the ruins, the voice of a child,
Born in the wrong place.
Holy Land with nothing holy left.
Nameless, godless,
Cold flesh lying on the ground, heart frozen,
Grey sky, grey mood—even if the sun shines.

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I wonder if a visa is needed to explore the galaxy.
Why are we the only beings that need permission to travel?

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On a geoid with open horizons,
A map becomes our prison,
Stamped with approvals, restrictions, invisible walls.
Strangers on paper, yet human among humans,
With a compass tethered to fear.
Only those in power decide what is right and what is wrong,
The good of the few at the expense of the many.

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Divided into those who know peace and those who do not know war,
With the same eyes, seeing the world in different ways.
Only those in power can decree what is just,
For those who win wars become Justice itself.

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And so remain dreams worth less on the other side,
And men valued only by the stamp on their papers,
Where luck abandons you at birth,
And birthplace becomes a matter of fortune.

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Stamps and permits,
Invisible walls,
Open horizons,
A map that becomes our prison.