“When you go to bed you see it;
The comrades I lost.
How I pulled them out with no limbs.
How they died in my arms.”
“This will stay with us.
For the rest of our lives.”
There is a darkness.
Etched across his eyes.
The eyes of a soldier.
Recently returned.
From the front line.
After 15 months of fighting.
He tightly holds.
His wife’s hand.
In a recovery centre.
In north-eastern Ukraine.
His wife travelled 600 miles.
To this innocuous collection of buildings.
In the Kharkiv region.
After he was granted a week off.
People are connected.
To the war.
In countless ways.
Regardless of their location.
“We’ll suffer.
The consequences.
For the rest of our lives.”
He says as his eyes moisten.
He has promised to not shave.
His beard until the war is over.
Its length reflects the 400-plus days.
Since ‘Mordor’’s full-scale invasion.
His wife thinks.
Her husband is different.
Beyond his appearance, too.
“He has changed a lot.”
“He has proved he’s capable of many things;
Protecting us.
And standing up for Ukraine.
He’s shown he can do a lot.”
People are connected.
To the war.
In countless ways.
Regardless of their location.
Last year.
Around 2,000 troops came here.
For counselling.
And physiotherapy.
Organisers admit.
This is just respite.
Not rehabilitation.
Most head back to the front.
Staff at the centre say.
Ukraine is trying to keep.
Its soldiers well enough to.
“Stand until the end”.
His wife returned home.
After visiting her husband.
At a psychotherapy clinic.
He headed back to the front lines.
People are connected.
To the war.
In countless ways.
Regardless of their location.
He is taking a break.
From being a drone pilot.
He struggles to sleep.
He says in the leafy gardens.
“Sometimes, you don’t know.
What to talk about.
With old friends.
Because old interests change.”
“I don’t want to share all.
That I’ve seen with them.
I am no longer interested in things.
We used to have in common.”
“Something has changed.
Even snapped.”
His role means.
He is a target.
And he is exposed to horrors.
Most don’t have to witness.
It’s left him.
In a psychological no man’s land.
“Every day that.
I’m on the front line.
I want to go home.
But when I come home.”
“I get this strange feeling of wanting.
To go back to my comrades.
It’s a very strange feeling.
Of being out of place.”
Managers at this recovery centre.
Believe it will take up.
To 20 years to mentally rehabilitate.
Ukraine’s population after this war.
People are connected.
To the war.
In countless ways.
Regardless of their location.
For a class of six in Kharkiv.
That means body therapy.
They take part.
In a session.
Where they sit.
And share feelings.
Before exploring touch and movement.
With each other.
She comes here.
To take care of her own mental health.
So she can help others.
As a therapist.
“It’s really important for me.
To stay in shape.
To have a resource.
That I can give to people.”
She can also see.
How people have changed.
In her city.
Since the start of the war.
“Nowadays, people live.
More in the present.
They don’t postpone life.
For the future.”
“And these are good changes in my opinion.
But there are also a lot of.
Traumatic experiences.
PTSD, and depression.”
“Which require the help of psychiatrists.”
A reminder of how.
The weight of this conflict.
Isn’t contained to the trenches.
*Because I read “Ukraine war: Taking steps to tackle the mental scars of conflict” by James Waterhouse on 19 May 2023 on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem as a story of Dmytro and Tetiana, a story of Pavlo, and a story of Inna.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Ukraine war: Taking steps to tackle the mental scars of conflict – BBC News
**My friend shows you this poem on the Ukrainian website for their children and others!
Please join them!
