“Children In Wartime
by Isobel Thrilling
Sirens ripped open
the warm silk of sleep;
we ricocheted to the shelter
moated by streets
that ran with darkness.
People said it was a storm,
but flak*
had not the right sound
for rain;
thunder left such huge craters
of silence,
we knew this was no giant
playing bowls.
And later,
when I saw the jaw of glass,
where once had hung
my window spun with stars;
it seemed the sky
lay broken on my floor.
*flak: anti aircraft fire
Al niño herido en la guerra
Te regalo una estrella como un copo de nieve
que al tocarlo desdore
ese nimbo que aprensa en hondas locuras,
la lluvia y el oro
dentro de la roca de una noche sin treguas.
Te regalo esa palabra que quema y diluvia
y se apaga y se prende al frotar las manos,
y se enjuga de tibias, tenebrosas lumbres,
tus ojos que se alzan como pájaros nocturnos,
¿Cómo han de borrar la noche , alcanzar la estrella?
E. R. Aristy
