Dedicated to all the children killed and injured in the Nice slaughter on Bastille Day, 2016.
I am dreaming.
Is it a dream, Grand Dad?
Surely a firecracker hit me… I think
Because, here I am, flat on the ground
Looking up at stars through a red mist.
Are those screams, Grand Dad?
Excited children pointing to fireworks above.
Or are they afraid?
Terrorized the storm will mow them down, too.
I can hear the wind lashing.
I can hear the waves crying.
Close to my ears, Grand Dad.
I am wet, my clothes are soaked.
But isn’t the sea blue, Grand Dad?
Why is it bloody tonight?
Why does your face appear and disappear?
Is it a dream, Grand Dad?
The poem begins with the actual words of a 10 year old boy who sustained a head injury at the spot of the Nice terror attack in 2016, addressed to his grandfather who had accompanied him to see the fireworks. Thankfully, he survived.
All rights reserved. Copyright @Sutapa Basu 2016
