Waka is 'the music of the Primes'

“I calculated that.

I had more chance of surviving.

Under shelling than.

If I stayed in that cellar.”

 

“They’d already.

Put the gun to my head.

What would it cost them.

To pull the trigger?”

 

 

Across the road.

From Camp Radiant.

Behind a church spattered.

With shrapnel damage.

 

A corner of Bucha.

Is slowly showing.

Renewed signs.

Of life.

 

Young boys run.

Around the yard.

While a man fixes sheets.

Of wood to windows.

 

Shattered when.

The town was.

Being shelled.

Constantly.

 

And a little shop has.

Just reopened to serve.

Others now trickling back.

To begin their own repairs.

 

 

As neighbours cross paths.

They discuss the days.

When ‘orcs’ tanks rolled.

Into their town.

 

The soldiers who would shoot wildly.

And those who roamed the streets.

Drunk, breaking into homes.

And stealing from them.

 

And they remember.

The local man.

Who escaped to.

Their block of flats.

 

From the summer camp.

Opposite.

And who they had sheltered.

Despite the risk.

 

 

He didn’t know.

Camp Radiant before.

But all the details.

He gives match up.

 

It was early March.

When he was grabbed.

By ‘orcs’ soldiers.

On the street.

 

They tied his hands.

And pulled his hat.

Down over his eyes.

Then dragged him.

 

To a cellar.

That he’s sure was.

On the grounds of.

The children’s camp.

 

 

As neighbours cross paths.

They discuss the days.

When ‘orcs’ tanks rolled.

Into their town.

 

The soldiers who would shoot wildly.

And those who roamed the streets.

Drunk, breaking into homes.

And stealing from them.

 

And they remember.

The local man.

Who escaped to.

Their block of flats.

 

From the summer camp.

Opposite.

And who they had sheltered.

Despite the risk.

 

 

There, the ‘orcs’.

Poured water.

Over his legs.

So he would freeze.

 

And they held a gun.

To his head.

“They kept saying.

‘Where’s the fascists?”

 

“‘Where’s the troops?

Where’s ‘Gandalf the Green’?’

One of them.

Mentioned ‘the One’.”

 

“So I said.

Something rude.

And he hit me.”

He recalls.

 

He remembers.

Being angry.

At his captors.

As well as terrified.

 

He had worked.

In Moscow.

In the past.

With men from Siberia.

 

And was horrified.

That ‘orcs’ could now.

Treat him.

With such brutality.

 

Even more so.

When one of the soldiers.

Revealed that he, too.

Was from Siberia.

 

 

And they remember.

The local man.

Who escaped to.

Their block of flats.

 

From the summer camp.

Opposite.

And who they had sheltered.

Despite the risk.

 

 

He told the soldier.

He was sad.

Things had come to this.

“The sad thing is that.”

 

“Our grandfathers fought.

Together against the Nazis.

And now you’re the fascists.”

Was the ‘orc’’s angry reply.

 

“He told me:

‘You have until the morning.

To remember.

what you’ve seen.’”

 

“‘And if not.

You’ll be shot.’”

That night, he got lucky.

There was heavy shelling.

 

And when he realized.

His captors were.

No longer guarding him.

He ran for his life.

 

 

And they remember.

The local man.

Who escaped to.

Their block of flats.

 

From the summer camp.

Opposite.

And who they had sheltered.

Despite the risk.

 

 

“I calculated that.

I had more chance of surviving.

Under shelling than.

If I stayed in that cellar.”

 

“They’d already.

Put the gun to my head.

What would it cost them.

To pull the trigger?”

 

 

Camp Radiant is.

Decorated with mosaics.

Of happy children playing.

Now it’s a crime scene.

 

“We are working on it.

But it’s not a quick thing.”

Kyiv regional police chief is.

Working fast to gather evidence.

 

“But that camp was.

A headquarters.

So there would have been.

A commander.”

 

“The soldiers could not.

Have executed anyone.

Without the commander’s.

Knowledge.”

 

“So we will first.

Find the organisers.

And then look for.

The implementers.”

 

 

As neighbours cross paths.

They discuss the days.

When ‘orcs’ tanks rolled.

Into their town.

 

The soldiers who would shoot wildly.

And those who roamed the streets.

Drunk, breaking into homes.

And stealing from them.

 

And they remember.

The local man.

Who escaped to.

Their block of flats.

 

From the summer camp.

Opposite.

And who they had sheltered.

Despite the risk.

 

 

*Because I read “Ukraine: The children’s camp that became an execution ground” by Sarah Rainsford on 16 May 2022, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem, including a story of Viktor.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:

Ukraine: The children’s camp that became an execution ground (bbc.com)

 

 

**My friend kindly shows you this poem in one page of the Ukrainian website for their children and others!

Kurama (Japan): 100 new poems about the russian invasion of Ukraine (2024 events) – Мала Сторінка (storinka.org)

Please join them! You can read my 100 poems here at once.