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🌍 “May 20, 2025: A World in Motion”
A Poem in Twelve Verses
I.
The Earth spun on, the clocks struck ten,
A Tuesday came, as now and then.
From east to west, the pulse was clear—
The world was watching, far and near.
II.
In Switzerland, beneath white skies,
A pact was signed with sober eyes.
A health accord to learn and brace—
To guard the breath of every place.
Though absent stood the U.S. name,
A hundred others stoked the flame.
III.
In Gaza’s smoke, the skyline wept,
Where grief and silence closely crept.
Children dreamt of peace again,
As leaders argued, calm in vain.
And still the rubble shaped the news,
While hope took root in scattered views.
IV.
India met with Pakistan—
A pause agreed, though barely planned.
The ceasefire held for one more day,
While memory still led the way.
Kashmir remained a wound half-closed,
Its fate in ink, yet still exposed.
V.
Across the U.S. plains so wide,
The winds became a turning tide.
Tornadoes danced in spinning rage,
But courage stepped onto the stage.
In Kansas towns and Texas dust,
The human chain rebuilt with trust.
VI.
At Google’s grand and glowing show,
New tools emerged with thoughtful flow.
Gemini learned to read and guide—
With data deep and circuits wide.
Android shimmered, code refined,
A glimpse into the AI mind.
VII.
A pill was tested, quietly hailed—
Where past attempts had often failed.
To break the nicotine embrace,
To clear the lungs and slow the race.
A softer path for those who try
To say goodbye, and not just die.
VIII.
The Bronx prepared for shadows’ birth—
A zoo to honor night’s own earth.
Bats and owls, sand cats and more,
In darkened halls the creatures soar.
A celebration of the dusk—
A lesson cloaked in fur and musk.
IX.
World Bee Day buzzed through fields and feed,
A call to guard the ones we need.
For every fruit and bloom we crave,
Depends on wings we rarely save.
And yet their numbers sharply fall—
A crisis small, yet towering tall.
X.
In Houston parks and Paris squares,
The world danced lightly on its cares.
Crab feasts, poems, a painted face—
Moments that stitched together grace.
Through all the noise, a thread runs true—
That joy still lives in what we do.
XI.
The headlines spun their daily tale,
Of trials met and systems frail.
But deeper than the ink and glare,
Was something human in the air—
The ache, the reach, the need to mend,
To make the wounds a way to bend.
XII.
So May 20th joins the scroll,
Of dates that shape the living whole.
A day of flame, of pact, of breeze—
Of trembling roots and climbing trees.
The world turns on—no full retreat—
With sorrowed eyes and hopeful feet.
