White Dust Protocol

Morning sky, a single B-29
A flash burned white – no sound, no sign
The shadow of a child on stone
A city erased, a world not known

Screaming steel, the heat unknown
Flesh and paper turned to bone

Falling ash, raining glass
The day the sun fell twice
Memory in concrete scars
Nagasaki – Hiroshima – burning stars

Three days later, the second dove died
Plutonium heart, a cursed tide
Urakami Valley, silent bells
A thousand souls in steel and hell

Emperor’s voice on broken wire
We walked through blood and funeral fire

Falling ash, raining glass
The day the sun fell twice
No prayer, no god, no truce
Just shadows left on schoolyard walls to prove

Little Boy… Fat Man…
Nameless names for hell’s own plan
Radiance black as weeping tar
One button pressed from a great afar

“The temperature at ground zero: over a million degrees Celsius.
Survivors called it ‘pika-don’ – the flash and the boom.
Some were vaporized. Their shadows stayed.
We wrote this history in blood.
We forgot. We always forget.”

No dawn… no dusk…
Only the rain – black and thick
Hiroshima… Nagasaki…
Never again – but it always repeats…