A poem by Iona Soper, Associate for Secure Scotland - https://www.securescotland.scot/people/iona-soper
Our vigil was sheltered from thunderous clouds
By the dripping limbs of the Hiroshima Tree
There’s something about sadness to draw out the crowds Our annual adieu; we’ll get damp if needs be
We raised up our banner and raised up our voice
As the drops fell and the sky became bleaker
Remember the Treaty! A rare chance to rejoice
At the inviting words of an invited speaker
The sun escaped the clouds, reached down and purified us
The clouds rushed quickly over to drag her out of sight
Echoes of tortured testimonies given today to guide us
‘Just keep on crawling towards the light’
A minute of silence and a last tear dripped free
A final kind word was exchanged with a friend
We leave, and the wind ripped the leaves from the tree
To be scattered like ashes upon the West End
Undeterred, the storm seized it’s chance to baptise
The shaken scout for shelter, a damp doorway to hide
As translucent rain shot down from white skies
The first pangs of hunger rose up inside
How lucky we are, for our rain to bring life
For every chance taken on meeting a stranger
To boast of our tap water from Thurso to Fife
To never know it to bring danger
To preach glory, teach empire and ingrain in the gut
That blood must always be thicker than water
But rain can be black and thicker than blood
The rain that came after we sanctioned a slaughter
Our rain grows heather hillsides and handfast carnations
Ice-skating on lochs when it freezes
Black rain brings orphans, making graveside libations
With a molotov cocktail of deathly diseases
Solidarity with victims, both living and lost
Our system is broken; you give us strength to disrupt it
Peace is a line that should never be crossed
Nuclear warfare is hell made public
Anti-nuclear family, my peaceful people’s pantheon
We carry no swords, nor desire to unsheathe them
But with arms outstretched, our umbrellas are drawn
And we will shelter your stories beneath them
We live in a world where wars wage for profits
Our efforts can feel like a drop in the ocean
But what is a storm, if not a collective of droplets
Raised up by cruel winds and united in motion?
What’s a minute of silence, to 76 years of torment?
What’s a fast, or a placard, to a storm of black rain?
Whoever, wherever you are in this moment
It’s never too late to pledge NEVER again.