On this video: Ukraine frontline: Bakhmut — a city under relentless Russian attack — BBC News.
Kurama
(Japan)
POETS IN A STUMBLING BLOCK
“What should I do?
For my brother?”
His life was spent saving others.
She wailed.
His body lay where he fell.
Alone.
Flat on his back.
Under a weak September sun.
He was killed around noon.
On 24 September.
During hours of intense shelling.
In the city of Bakhmut.
A woman in a red coat.
Screamed in anguish nearby.
As she sheltered in a doorway.
This was his sister.
“What should I do?
For my brother?”
His life was spent saving others.
She wailed.
For more than an hour.
He couldn't be moved.
Because there was no let-up.
In the barrage.
He worked as an ambulance driver.
And he was killed.
Not far from his depot.
His body punctured by shrapnel.
His name has now been added.
To the list of ‘orcs’ victims in Bakhmut.
More than 70 civilians have been killed.
By enemy shelling in recent months.
For hours that morning.
The city centre echoed to the whistle.
And deafening shriek of incoming shells.
From ‘orcs’ forces.
And the thud of outgoing.
Rounds from ‘elves’.
An artillery duel was playing out around.
The retorts so fast it was hard to keep track.
A dozen civilians huddled.
By a wall.
Ducking and flinching.
As one explosion followed another.
Their prize possessions were stuffed.
Into travel bags at their feet.
They were waiting for a one-man evacuation team.
To get them out of the city.
Before ‘orcs’ invasion.
In February.
Bakhmut was home.
To around 70,000 people.
And was known for its salt mines.
And sparkling wine production.
Now it is battered.
And largely lifeless.
“What should I do?
For my brother?”
His life was spent saving others.
She wailed.
“I want to return to Bakhmut.
Our armed forces will take.
The territories back.
And everything will be alright.”
In a bright yellow jacket.
She kept watch nervously.
Over her 14-year-old daughter.
Who seemed to sink into her hoodie.
She and her daughter sometimes flinched.
In unison at the sounds of battle.
Otherwise, the teenager busied herself.
With a pet carrier.
She reluctant departure from her hometown was.
For the sake of her child.
“It's very hard.
Very difficult.”
“I wouldn't want to leave this place.
Except for the war.
The main thing is.
To save the life of my daughter.”
“We are also taking.
Our cat with us.
Who has had kittens.
So that we all survive.”
“I want to return to Bakhmut.
Our armed forces will take.
The territories back.
And everything will be alright.”
This statement is.
Both a prayer.
And an article of faith.
For many in Ukraine.
More than six months into the invasion.
‘Mordor’’s stated aim is.
To gain control of all of Donbas.
Bakhmut is a stumbling block.
They gather up.
Their belongings hurriedly.
And scramble into the back of a van.
Driven by a volunteer.
He wears a helmet and sunglasses.
Used to be a drummer in a rock band.
A tattoo in Latin on his right arms.
Reads “carpe diem”, or “seize the day”.
As part of a network.
For months now he's been doing just that.
Snatching civilians from harm’s way.
In front-line areas.
He seems fuelled by adrenaline.
He plays down the risk to his life.
On these daily missions.
“I think it's usual for me.”
“And usual for any ‘elf’.
I feel happy.
When I see smiles.
On these faces.”
“I love life.
I love Ukraine and I love people.”
With that he sets off at speed.
Along bumpy back roads.
For she and her daughter.
It's the first stage of a journey.
To the relative safety.
Of the capital, Kyiv.
“And usual for any ‘elf’.
I feel happy.
When I see smiles.
On these faces.”
“Why did they start it?
What are they fighting for?
I want to cry days and night.
I ask my husband to take me.”
Prisoners of age and memory.
Like 80-year-old.
The brutality of war is staring.
Her in the face.
Her modest home is opposite.
From a blackened five-story apartment block.
Ripped asunder by an ‘orcs’ airstrike.
On 15 September.
Five civilians were killed in the attack.
According to the emergency services.
As they searched in the rubble the next day.
One of their team was killed by shelling.
She sits on a bench.
In front of her home.
Bent over her walking stick.
She is bundled up in cardigans.
And she wears a black woollen hat.
Her tears come quickly.
Once she starts to speak.
She is mourning her husband of 60 years.
Her husband died recently.
Through illness.
And the peace they used to enjoy.
“For 70 years, there wasn't any war.”
“Why did they start it?
What are they fighting for?
I want to cry days and night.
I ask my husband to take me.”
“My children have been evacuated.
Their life has been ruined, too.
And the little children have been evacuated.
They are torturing us, 100%.”
She rails at both sides.
Her words punctuated by shelling.
“What a winter it will be.
She sighs.
“No gas, in a cold house.
I would happily go hungry.
If only they stop.
The shelling.”
Smoke was still rising.
After an ‘orcs’ airstrike.
A few days earlier.
On another apartment block.
There were ashes smouldering.
In the rubble.
In its bid to take the city.
‘Mordor’ seems ready to destroy it.
It's a pattern in other ruins.
In other ‘elves’ cities.
Shell, kill, and repeat.
‘Orcs’ army way.
“No gas, in a cold house.
I would happily go hungry.
If only they stop.
The shelling.”
Please read the original story:
Ukraine war: Inside Bakhmut, the battered Donbas city holding off Putin's troops — BBC News
Read more:
"Aware of a poet?
Aware of a poet?
A poet of Cossack broods over the land.
Not noting a bullet.
Not noting a bullet.
You see a poet of Cossack in Borodyanka."
(Kurama)
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Думки українських поетів про рідну країну, їхні відчуття до української землі і нашого народу — все це юні читачі зможуть знайти в представленій добірці віршів про Україну від Ганни Черінь, Юрка Шкрумеляка, Наталки Талиманчук, Іванни Савицької, Уляни Кравченко, Яни Яковенко, Василя Симоненка, Івана Франка, Володимира Сосюри, Катерини Перелісної, Богдана-Ігоря Антонича, Марійки Підгірянки, Миколи Чернявського, Володимира Сіренка, Іванни Блажкевич, Грицька Бойка, Миколи Вінграновського, Платона Воронька, Наталі Забіли, Анатолія Камінчука, Анатолія Качана, Володимира Коломійця, Тамари Коломієць, Ліни Костенко, Андрія Малишка, Андрія М’ястківського, Івана Неходи, Бориса Олійника, Дмитра Павличка, Максима Рильського, Вадима Скомаровського, Сосюра Володимир, Павла Тичини, Петра Осадчука, Варвари Гринько та інших відомих українських поетів.