The Little Girl

It’s I knocking on the doors,
one by one, on every door.
I can’t be seen to your eyes
dead children can’t be seen.

Some ten years have gone past
since I died in Hiroshima.
I’m still only seven-
dead children don’t grow up.

My hair caught fire first
then my eyes burned, scorched.
I turned into a handful of ash,
then my ashes were blown into the air.

I’m not here to ask you
to do anything for myself.
A burnt child
can’t even eat sweets.

I’m at your door Madam, Sir,
to ask you for your signature.
So that children don’t get killed
so that they can even eat sweets.

1956

Tr. by Cahit Baylav