Windows are covered,
Not a chink of light,
Was able to escape.
If this happened,
You would create a target
For the bombers, hovering, above.
Inside our habited cocoons,
We waited, with bated breath,
Fearfully, for it, to be over.
'Put out that light',
Booms a voice,
from the street below.
We dashed to our two windows,
To check for a chink of light,
In case we were the culprits,
After an hour or two
the siren came,
Danger was averted for another night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Childhood memories are the strongest we have. They shape the rest of our lives, often in ways we don't realise.