Black Rain

(For August 6, 1945)

I wasn’t there the day 200,000 cried
and instant where their tears
were dried
The winds that swept the sands
and sudden sleep still blast
my eyes
with fear.
Stale voices shred the air with lies
and instead of tenderness
swear horror
for our lives.

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..