Dead. Dead. Every child. Shriek out
from the stormed park, the smouldered school-yard
Shout!
because this quiet shocks the sky as much
as the first roar of bombers.
Noise became
expected: ears survived. Even the touch
of shadows changing, that had stayed the same
for hundreds of holy years, became expected.
But the planes went, and all unresurrected
lies the city. Not one sudden wonder
has risen to mock the bombs.
Are you afraid?
Those were no eagles; all their titan thunder
was made by human hands.
Grant Icarus shade
or he will fall again! Mothers, grow wild
shriek out! Dead. Dead. Every child.
– Aaron Kramer Guernica (1945)