A line, drawn with ink and human pride,
Where compassion subsides and dreams are denied.
The stroke of ink, I condemn thee,
For the wars and death, you sow, I cannot see.
Borders, once mere lines on maps, we’re told,
Now wield the power to shatter dreams untold.
Lines etched in soil, divisions cast in ink,
Fanning the flames of conflict, causing hearts to sink.
But still, I dream of crossing over, dear friend,
To a world where my sorrows shall find an end.
For a world devoid of boundaries and divide,
Is a world where love and peace shall abide