Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
She was a doctor.
At the height.
Of the refugee crisis.
She was directing a team.
Of doctors, nurses and volunteers.
Constantly on the move down.
The long, crowded corridors.
To wherever help was needed.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
Through all of this.
She was dealing with.
A family crisis:
She is of ‘orc’ origin.
And her siblings in Moscow.
Supported ‘the One’’s war.
She has lost all contact.
With her ‘orcs’ family.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
“These people are lost for me.
They will never say no.
And will remain silent.
Like slaves.”
She is teaching medicine.
At Lviv University.
Aware that her students.
Might be drafted to fight.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
Several staff from the university.
Have been killed.
Her own feelings towards ‘Mordor’.
Have hardened.
She describes the air raids on the city.
And how her children were woken.
By a door being blown off.
Its hinges by an explosion.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
Now this doctor.
This mother of a 11-year-old son.
And two-year-old daughter.
Wants to fight.
The healer of bodies.
Would like to be a sniper.
“I love shooting from different weapons.
I would be a good sniper.”
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
When you ask how someone.
Whose mission it is to heal.
Felt about being prepared to kill.
She replies:
“It’s my war… I will kill anyone.
So my children will be safe.
This is a matter of survival.
I am fighting for my land.”
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What’s been lost.
*Because I read “War-weary Ukrainians endure as Russia’s invasion drags on” by Fergal Keane on 14 Feb 2024, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem as a story of Natasha.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
War-weary Ukrainians endure as Russia’s invasion drags on – BBC News
**My friend shows you this poem with two other ones on the Ukrainian website for their children and others!
Please join them!
