The old man sits with his head against the chair, a comb-over in his hair, the know in his stare

He saw the earth change; its people, its places, black and white faces, his mind never erases.

Bombs fell on the towns of Japan; an act by man that tore apart the land
People were killed for what they believed, while men sucked the teat, and supplied their greed.

He blinks and looks at the setting sun, and thinks of a gun, and then of his son;
Off in a desert with sand in his eyes, fear fills his mind, amidst children’s cries.

He hastens the day when his son comes home; into his arms, not under a stone.
Then his wife comes out and holds his hand, and for a moment he can forget the sand.

photo by Rajendra Thakurathi