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…