We Survived Until We Could Live

Who survives war? What does survival mean? And at what cost? Yes, the sirens and bombs have ceased. Yes, peace has settled over the rubble. But even in moments of laughter, ghosts chafe. Blood still smells in the air. The present is as fraught as the past, filled with shadows and fumes. Old wounds sting the body and the mind, rekindling nightmares and memory. In poetry by turns lyrical and intense, elegiac and intimate, We Survived Until We Could Live plumbs the contours of vulnerability, inviting readers to reflect on loss and the broken flesh. Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike skillfully uses multiple narrative voices and personas —a father, a mother, a son—to show how postwar trauma and memory warp family relationships, how violence persists long after a war has ended. Umezurike doesn't turn away from contemplating the psychic and physical scars that war leaves on people, whether on the old or young, parents or children. These are poems of taut breath, silence, and echoes. These are also poems of love and its redemptive power. Poems of the courage to continue. Tender yet enduring snapshots of kindness, grace, hope, and resilience, reminding us of our capacity to emerge from the crushing shrouds of darkness and tragedy into the light.