The plane,
Metallic and silver
Soared through the clouds
Over the city and vibrated
And hummed glinting
In the sunlight,
Propellers whirring,
Food parcels and supplies
Pushed out of open doors
By American hands
Over West Berlin.

Over a bomb-ravaged 
Scarred grey landscape
With bombed-out buildings
And gaunt haunted faces
Haunted by the ghosts
Of the millions who died during
The war in the bombed-out streets,
Buildings, ghettos, mass graves
And concentration
Camps across Europe;
Laying there like red poppies
Flapping in the breeze.

The American pilots
Listened to Jazz nervously
On the radio and chewed gum
And looked down at the scenes
Of horror and devastation below,
And wondered whether
The next generations would
Remember what happened here?
Will they remember the
Hatred and inhumanity?
Will they remember Berlin?

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With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios

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