Time stood still,
At eleven-oh-two,
What was a typical day,
Turned a bleak, grey hue.
What once was,
Could not be felt nor seen,
Invisible -
Engraving pain in everything.
These columns of twelve,
As if guarding,
Could never bear the weight,
Of what they are holding.
For there in the centre,
In a tiered column so hollow,
Lies the souls of seventy thousand -
Only mirroring sorrow.
This reminds me,
How fleeting life can be -
Its impermanence, uncertainty,
And our shared mortality.
๐๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ด ๐ ๐ด๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ด๐ข๐ฌ๐ช ๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ช๐ข๐ญ ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ข ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ ๐ฐ๐ง 22 ๐๐ค๐ต 2025
The column in the centre lies the names of those 70,000+ people obliterated during the atomic bomb in Nagasaki on Aug 9, 1945 at 11.02am; which location also marks the hypocentre of the explosion.
Photo taken at the Nagasaki National Peace Memorial Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims, Japan.
Stephanie Loo 