The Church Street Bomb Poem by Gert Strydom

What a hell of banging sound resounded
in the inner city
on that day.

The air rushed turbulent
past me and the blast
made glass and concrete
shatter and rain down
in a deadly hail.

Innocent men, woman and children
who where on the street
where scarred, mutilated,
maimed and slaughtered.

Later the sirens of the fire brigade,
ambulances and police wailed past,
sounding like machines mourning
the inhumanity of a political cause
and of man killing man without any remorse.