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Bombs Bear no Names ©

Nat Hall
Sandwick, Shetland
2005

A list of names, strangers,
unknown, reel at the bottom of my screen;
"Zoe and Ruth please contact home" -
just like a world war memorial,
tower in white, still
and serene, where
death once crushed their
will to live.

Today terror still strikes cities;
Hiroshima, Beyrouth, Baghdad...
London, Madrid or Manhattan,
innocent souls fell out
of grace.
More names engraved
on cold marble;
powder power or gelignite,
God must have cried in
a corner...

Insanity back on world map
erases souls without warning;
survivors call through day and night
to let us know it's not surreal.

Karen is fine, Taina's safe.

How many died, stranger or friend?
Sombre faces talk in a glen,
all dressed in grey,
fallen angels...

We, the people, have NEVER asked to end
our lives, caught in a blast, or
cry for bombs that bear
no names; you sip champagne in
a thin glass,
we drink our pain
in cups of lead.


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