I came on silver wings,
drifting past dying stars,
hoping to find a world soft enough
to call my own.
I saw blue first,
a planet breathing,
wrapped in mist and promise.
I thought, maybe here—
maybe here I could stay.
But then—
the silence of women swallowed whole,
voices drowned in laws not their own.
Skin held as a currency,
love twisted into a crime.
The ones in power, chosen by fear,
speak with empty mouths
and call it truth.
I watched men sharpen their edges
on the backs of women,
their laughter carving scars,
their hands taking without asking.
The food—
not food at all, but ghosts of what once was,
pumped with things that do not belong.
The trees fall,
not from time,
but from greed’s impatient hands.
And I wonder,
do they not see the world turning brittle?
Do they not hear the earth gasping?
I do not understand your wars,
your hunger for more,
the way you cage each other
and call it freedom.
I only feel it—
the ache of something wrong,
an unraveling, a sickness,
a grief I do not have a name for.
I did not come to be a witness
to a planet choosing its own end.
I came looking for home,
but this—
this is not a place to stay.
So I turn away,
silver wings catching starlight,
searching for a world
that remembers how to be kind.
i wrote this in the pov of an alien searching for solitude, but it comes to earth and sees everything that our population somehow doesnt see. that we are dying. and that maybe, we should.
