Incarnation Poem by Ajit Das

‘I still hate to see the glow of the setting sun'-
haunts a survivor's memory of the deadly cargo
Enola Gay released over Hiroshima, sending
burning, bleeding human ghosts scurrying
like ants to escape and dying like insects.
Their lives ‘revered' as gifts of god perished.

The ingenious human mind will ask: so what?
Every life that takes birth is destined to die.
If such deaths can prevent more destruction,
no harm if the genie is out of the bottle, given
a free run in the laboratory to create war robots,
committing mankind firmly to collective suicide.

O Serene! Where is your promise to incarnate,
when the container of sins is full, overflowing?
Kindled lamps burn in the temple, bells gong
in the church, prayer-call sounds in the mosque.
When will your eternal voice of hope arise,
soothing black scars on the heart of the earth?