Hiroshima Poetry

A Parable

I think that almost all Americans know about the story of Sun and Wind. They tried to take the coat
off from the traveler. First, the north wind blew very hard. But the traveler kept his coat really
hard. Next, the sun shine and made him warm. Then, the traveler easily took his coat off.
Even kids know this theory. I wonder why the Americans keep being the north wind.
from Mutsumi, our dear friend in Osaka, Japan

from Mutsumi, in Osaka, Japan

Hiroshima Child

I come and stand at every door
But none can hear my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead for I am dead

I’m only seven though I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I’m seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow

My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind

I need no fruit I need no rice
I need no sweets nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead for I am dead

All that I need is that for peace
You fight today you fight today
So that the children of this world
Can live and grow and laugh and play

by Nazim Hikmet


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