Four Walls

Several years ago I listened to Requiem: The Story of One Sky by Dimash Qudaibergen, an internationally acclaimed singer from Kazakhstan whose music often explores themes of peace, compassion, and our shared humanity. The song is a plea for peace in a world too often divided by conflict. (I encourage you to listen to it on YouTube.) At the conclusion of the song appeared a quote from Pope Francis:

“Dialogue, understanding and the widespread promotion of a culture of tolerance, acceptance of others and of living together peacefully would contribute significantly to reducing many economic, social, political and environmental problems that weigh so heavily on a large part of humanity.”

The words lingered long after the music ended.

As I reflected on them, I found myself thinking about war, not from the perspective of governments or military leaders, but through the eyes of ordinary families. Those thoughts eventually led me to write a poem called Four Walls.

In the poem I imagined a father walking hand in hand with his young child. The route was familiar. Past the corner coffee shop where neighbors exchanged greetings each morning. Past the bakery where fresh bread emerged from the ovens before sunrise.
Past the small businesses that gave life to the community and livelihoods to the people who lived there. To the child, it was simply home. A place of comfort and routine. A place where tomorrow would look much like today.

Within the four walls of their home there was laughter. Family meals around the kitchen table. Bedtime stories. Dreams about the future. The simple moments that often go unnoticed because we assume they will always be there. Outside those walls, an economy quietly supported everyday life. There was a sense of stability, however modest, that allowed families to plan for a better future.

Then war arrived.

The transformation was swift. The coffee shop closed. The bakery’s windows shattered. The familiar streets became unrecognizable. Businesses that had taken decades to build disappeared in a matter of days. Jobs vanished. Savings lost their value. Supply chains broke down. Food and clean water became scarce. Homes were abandoned. The economic foundation that supported the community collapsed beneath the weight of conflict.

Yet the greatest losses could never be measured in dollars or rebuilt with time. Young children, through eyes that should know only innocence, witnessed scenes their minds were never meant to process. Families were separated. Parents searched desperately for missing children. Children searched desperately for missing parents. The routines that once defined daily life were replaced by uncertainty, fear, and grief.

The image that remained with me was that of a child with tears flowing and bloodshot eyes. His father taken by the ravages of war. The four walls that once provided safety and security now reduced to rubble.

A family torn apart.

When we discuss the cost of war, we often focus on military spending, destroyed infrastructure, and economic damage. Those losses are real. Entire generations can spend decades rebuilding what conflict destroys in months.

But the deepest wounds are often invisible. The true cost is measured in broken families, lost futures, shattered communities, and the quiet security that so many of us take for granted. And all because understanding gave way to hatred, and dialogue gave way to violence.

The older I get, the more I believe that most people want remarkably similar things. A safe home. Meaningful work. Food on the table. The opportunity to raise their children in peace. These hopes transcend borders, languages, religions, and politics.

Perhaps that is why the words of Pope Francis stayed with me. And perhaps that is why the image of those four walls continues to resonate.

The title, The Story of One Sky, stayed with me.

The father and child in my poem. The baker opening his shop before dawn. The coffee shop owner greeting customers each morning. The families caught in the middle of conflict. Different lives, different circumstances, yet all sharing the same hopes for safety, security, and peace.

Near the end of the song comes a simple message: “We are choosing life.”

I have often reflected on those words. War asks us to focus on what divides us. The song asks us to remember what unites us.

Beyond our differences, most of us are simply trying to protect the people we love and build a better future for those who follow us. Perhaps peace begins when we recognize that simple truth. Because behind every conflict are ordinary people who simply wish to live their lives beneath one sky.

They are choosing life.

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