I can't wait for the festival,
though I know I shouldn't call it that,
after all it was the day the Atom Bomb, the Thunderbolt,
destroyed Hiroshima,
and caused Oba chan's death,
Though I'm excited regardless,
that even wake up extra early,
recalling the beautiful lights, stalls and cotton candy,
how wonderful!
I got dressed,
with red bows on my braids,
Did our daily prayers to Oba,
had our meal of soup and rice,
tidied the kitchen
only to wait on the tatami mat until seven thirty,
just because we had to leave at that time.
I wish they would hurry up,
but nothing ever made them hurry.
Half past seven I waited,
Seven Thirty has passed,
My family and I meet the bustling streets,
among the lively masses,
I meet with Chizuko, my best friend,
and raced up the streets,
all the way to Peace Park.
Filed in orderly lines the people went,
into the memorial building silently,
as if they didn't want to disturbed the dead that lingered.
And the dead did linger on the walls
the dead and dying in the ruins of Hiroshima, from years ago
The aftermath of the Atom bomb, the Thunderbolt.
When I was a baby I remembered,
flashes of a million suns,
prickling my eyes like needles,
on the day of the atom bomb.
And even til today we suffer from the bomb,
victims with white scars,
no longer human,
and diseases that linger in the air,
strangling us, killing us,
Leukemia that monster.
After the speeches,
after the releasing of the doves,
came the festivities I yearned for,
and I enjoyed passing the stalls,
the fragrant smells,
and vendors of crickets to cakes.
As the sun went down,
the festivities didn't,
great fireworks engulfed the sky and faded in a twinkle,
To the Ohta River my family and I,
lit paper lanterns and wrote down Oba chan's name,
and released the glowing lanterns in the river,
glowing like a swarm of fireflies.
And even at night, I still think about today,
the excitement, the joy, memories, and laughter,
the sorrow, the pain, the loss, and the mourning,
thinking of Peace Day.