The war began at the year’s edge—

a hinge where ice and ember meet,

from January’s opening

to the first green note of Spring.

Who can say

when a killing ground

learned the shape of a playground lawn?

Tears braided themselves

into brown rivers

down the faces of parents,

tracing the old road

from eye to cheek

with memory.

In those days

when waters pressed too close,

when the sea set its teeth

against Persia and Arabia,

the Strait of Hormuz stood—

a narrow gate among nations,

a theater of rise and ruin,

as fickle as the tide.

An oil ship moved through the passage,

heavy as a fallen idol,

its hull burdened

with the earth’s dark wealth.

Its shadow stained the water

that once carried caravans—

Hormuz, the island kingdom,

its red fortress keeping faith

with vanished prayers

and the guns of distant empires.

Beside it, sorrow walked.

So many lives

have been claimed by these depths—

sailors taken by storms,

merchants erased by war,

their names worn smooth

like stones in the sea.

Anger rose. Fear followed—

a desert wind, bright and unyielding.

War tightened the narrow place,

binding the strait

like a cord around the throat.

Breath failed

before it could become speech.

The waters groaned

under the weight

of human striving.

Yet even there,

in that constricted throat,

between ancient cliffs

and the low hum of engines,

a sign appeared.

On the first day of Spring,

a quiet light stirred in my chest—

not the polished glory of armies,

nor the pageantry of kings,

but something small, stubborn,

unconquered.

It shone

like dawn on oil-dark water,

a whisper

beyond the reach of war.

The seasons—so the book says—

open what we have closed.

Beyond the narrowing,

the sea releases its grip.

Beyond pain,

the future begins to unscroll.

If the ship endures,

it will find open water again.

So will we.

Thus speaks Hormuz

on the day of Spring Equinox:

the narrow is not the final line,

sorrow not the final word,

and from the pressure of suffering,

a wider mercy

shall rise.

—TaeHun Yoon

March 20, 2026