Bring Him Home

The silence stretches, a taut wire across borders, across oceans of unspoken dread. A name whispered in the dry heat, a face etched on worn photographs, a promise hanging heavy in the air. They speak of strategy, of interests, of the intricate dance of power, but I see only an empty chair. The news flickers, a kaleidoscope of flags and rhetoric, each pronouncement a stone added to the weight on a mother's weary heart. Bring him home, they murmur in the quiet corners, the ones untouched by manifestos and treaties, where only the echo of a laugh remains. Let the diplomats convene, let the treaties be signed, but remember the singular life suspended, the breath held captive in foreign soil. This is not a game of nations, not a pawn in a grand design, but a son, a brother, a father, a missing piece of a family's soul. The rhetoric fades, the posturing dissolves, and only the yearning remains, visceral and raw, a silent scream across the continents: Bring him home. Just bring him home. ©bfa042025