ONE SPRING DAY IN BELFAST . . .

Thirty-six years ago to the day - the hour was noon - one Spring day in Belfast. History recants the story. In all conflicts the innocent suffer. Bombs do not discriminate – they kill and maim with equal resolution regardless of class, creed, age, gender or colour. None are immune. To a lasting peace for all.


ONE SPRING DAY IN BELFAST - Donegall Street, March 20, 1972
(A poem by Walter Magill © Copyright 2008)


I was there that day
When day was turned to night.
When acrid plumes of the bomber’s loom
Wrought ruthless in the fight.

I was there that day
Coincidence of chance.
Robbed in a flash
Of ignorance – Of innocence.

I was there that day
I and the instant dead.
I and the bits of burning flesh
Laid blackened, bloodied, bled.

I was there that day
In shrouds the crack from hell.
The silenced bloody aftermath
The pall on wounded fell.

I was there that day
Caught victim in the fray.
Bloodied, bruised, bewildered
In midnight of the day.

I was there that day
And left to echo why?
Of Shadowed Men
Their cause for us to die.

I was there that day
My mantra drums to beat.
Lest we forget again
And God forbid - repeat.

I was there that day
A day of shame - vainglory.
One Spring day in Belfast
The dead can’t write the story.

R.I.P.