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(Dedicated to the Victims of Nuclear Weapons)

Though in the later years I was born,
Yet history makes me forlorn,
Rocks me back in the past behind,
To the horrible event and tragic morn.

I see the roses with blighted faces,
Satchels on backs, toddling to schools,
Playing in parks, swimming in pools,
The men, women and the old folk,
Busy in their worldly doings,
Teenagers move with flowing passions,
With longings for the better times,
Brighter future and happier days,
The stream of life goes with dancing waves.
The lovers still on the beds, bending
Over one another peeping into the eyes,
Measure the depth of bottomless love.

Oh no! Now my receptive ears clearly hear,
Incredible rumbling roaring of thunder,
And eyes see huge yellow bluish flame,
Whose dazzle makes us all blind,
All blackness of humanity spurts out,
In the shape of sooty mushroom,
Upon the earth spreading sable shadows,
The explosion smashes and blows up,
The whole structure of civilization,
The hopes resting in the beating hearts,
And cherished longings in the minds.

I see humanity being fallen,
To the meanest level of savagery,
Cruelty and abyss of brutality,
What game have played the pioneers of peace,
The busy men, women and sucking infants,
Being nourished in the soft soothing laps,
Burn as the rosy petals do,
When thrown into the furnace,
Where terrible enormous heat,
Melts metals hard, like butter,
The Darkness dances all around,
The echoes of laughter have changed,
Into wailing, crying and painful shrieks.

Who are these who move like ghosts,
Charred bony figures with hanging shreds,
Lamenting upon the horrible deed,
And despised nature sighs and sobs,
That who knows when time takes turn,
Who knows moments of calm and peace,
Might contain the centuries of sorrows.

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