
It’s looking quite forlorn now
The larder shelves are bare
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
-:-
He doesn’t want the kitchen
That father carved in wood
He only wants its ruin
And the land on which it stood
-:-
My children went outside to play
And found his cluster bombs
All brightly decked with spirals
To reckon all our wrongs
-:-
He speaks another language
Not Russian – that we share
But one that more than has enough
Yet steals my very air
-:-
I was a pin upon his map
A million of us were
But now the dust above the ground
Is all the wind can bear
-:-
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
Nor my children nor my father
There’s just remembering air
-:-
So breathe me and absorb these words
Remember what we were
And…
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Strong potent images. Thank you for sharing
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It needed to be shared…
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So terribly sad. Beautiful and powerful poem.
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Thank you, Ladies ♥️
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