Black Balloons

The child cannot sleep -
its tears are black balloons
falling on the ground
where blue and silver
are colours
of pain
of death
and the sun is a pot of ash.

The child wants to cling
but the trees run away
to hide behind hills
where flowers clatter
in the wind.

The child screams
as again and again,
in a glaring loop,
great knives cut into coils
making the towers
tumble on its bed.

The child draws furiously,
its small hands clenching crayons,
and in reds, greens, yellows
it draws, draws
angels swarming
in the sky
like crows.

--Roger Bonner (Switzerland)