Poetry by Rowan Evans

I remember, March 11th, 2011—
When the earth trembled, the world cracked open,
A tsunami roared, sweeping villages from the map.
A baby, torn from her parents' arms,
Carried into the unknown, where survival seemed impossible.
The chaos raged on, relentless,
But when the dust settled and the waters receded,
On the third day, amidst silent ruins—
A cry pierced the stillness—
And Japan found its tiniest miracle.

She was only four months old,
Lying amongst the wreckage—
Her parents, huddled in the remnants of their home,
Uncertain where their daughter lay, but fearing the worst.
They had survived—
Grateful to be alive,
But what of their precious child?

She was only four months,
Cradled beneath beams and broken slate,
Shattered glass and jagged stone,
Yet somehow—against all odds—
She was safe. Fourteen years have passed,
And I still remember that day.
I remember the tears, as I read the news,
Wide awake since the first tremor,
The quake that ignited it all.

In the end, it was Japan's Miracle—
But it sowed seeds of hope,
Hope that grew in every heart that heard her cry.
Like a whisper, soft enough to fade,
Yet loud enough to rouse you from sleep,
Opening your eyes to something greater,
Something beyond the moment.

She was only four months,
But she survived—she's alive.
It’s these moments that force us to reflect,
To reconsider what we hold dear,
To challenge ourselves to grow,
To change.
Because in an instant, everything can shift.
You might feel safe,
Wrapped in warmth,And then—without warning—be swept away.