1. Nuclear Weapons "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones. The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking...the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker.“ – Albert Einstein

4. Radiation

5. TO PRIPYAT (Liubov Sirota) 1. The bowed shoulders of a conscience awakened must bear the burden of torment for life. It's impossible, believe me, to overpower or overhaul our pain for the lost home. Pain will endure in the beating hearts stamped by the memory of fear. There, surrounded by prickly bitterness, why was it abandoned forever? 2. There, our dreams wander like clouds, illuminate windows with moonlight. There trees live by unwavering memories, remember the touch of hands. there will be no one for their shade to protect from the scorching heat! At night their branches quietly rock our inflamed dreams. But the hour will pass . . . Abandoned by dreams, will freeze and bid us farewell! . . . We can neither expiate nor rectify the mistakes and misery of that April . our puzzled town asks: since it loves us and forgives everything, At night, of course, our town though emptied forever, comes to life. How bitter for them to know Stars thrust down onto the pavement, to stand guard until morning . . . the orphaned houses whose windows have gone insane

6. 3. We've stood over our ashes; now what do we take on our long journey? The secret fear that wherever we go we are superfluous? The sense of loss that revealed the essence of a strange and sudden kinlessness, showed that our calamity is not shared by those who might, one day, themselves face annihilation? . . . We are doomed to be left behind by the flock in the harshest of winters . . . You, fly away! But when you fly off don't forget us, grounded in the field! And no matter to what joyful faraway lands your happy wings bear you, may our charred wings protect you from carelessness.

7. Lumberjacked City her expectation The daily ration, Survival on short commons In the safety of an obscure and unimportant city Nowhere near a battlefield. Then the universe Gives her a nudge. The fireball Is a red-hot furnace Slammed directly into her eyes. The blast Is a utility pole Rammed up her privacy. She has nothing sacred. She is one big meathook rape, Helpless to defend herself. Her back is broken, Her hair on fire, Her teeth displaced. Her nose is a red truncation. The caprice of demons chortles in her flesh. She dies in slow eternities, Forgetting, As she dies, The colors black and white, Her father's name, And what exactly that it was Her mother's milk once tasted of. The cherry blossom will no longer bloom for her. Dying, She forgets her very name, So you, if you so choose, May give her one of yours. Hiroshima is a woman,

8. Conclusion