I was visiting my son.
In Bucha.
And that’s where.
I saw the war.
The ‘orcs’ occupiers came.
To us on 3 March.
We hid in the basement.
Of the house.
We were very scared.
We didn’t know.
What to do.
We just sat and waited.
In the evening.
We heard that they started.
Breaking the windows.
Of a neighbouring house.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
We realised that.
They were looters.
They wanted to.
Steal something.
All night long.
We listened to.
These sounds of them.
Breaking windows.
And taking things.
Out of houses.
We sat there.
Until the morning.
It seemed to us that.
They had gone further.
Into the city.
And then the question arose.
Of what to eat.
How to cook.
And how to live.
In general.
And how to live.
In general.
There was no electricity.
Or gas in the city.
The ‘orcs’ set up.
A base not far.
From our house.
Half a kilometre away.
But people came out.
Of their houses.
And started cooking.
On the fire.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
Then the occupiers.
Brought artillery.
And began to shell Irpin.
I saw it with my own eyes.
There is a new.
Residential complex there.
And it is clearly visible.
From our neighbourhood.
Bombs were flying there.
It’s a good thing.
I didn’t listen to.
The matchmaker.
Who called me.
And told me.
To move.
To Irpin.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
Our district was.
Not so bombed.
But the shells.
Were still coming.
We had a neighbour.
The rocket hit.
A neighbouring building.
And a shrapnel tore.
And a shrapnel tore.
off her leg.
It was her son’s.
Birthday that day.
To avoid scaring him.
She endured the pain.
And bandaged.
Her leg herself.
I called the doctors.
But they said that.
They would not go.
To the war zone.
She survived.
Until the morning.
And then died.
Of blood loss.
Four days later.
I asked her son.
What was wrong.
With his mother.
He said his mother.
Had died and.
Had been lying at home.
All this time.
We dug a grave.
Right in the garden.
And buried it.
Right in the garden.
We generally tried to.
Bury those we found.
Lying on the roads.
As much as possible.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
Civilians were.
Killed every day.
The feeling was that.
They were taking out.
Their anger.
At the fact that.
Their equipment was.
Being bombed on people.
At some point they started.
Patrolling the streets.
Entering houses.
Checking phones.
They found a photo.
On one guy’s phone.
They didn’t like it.
And shot him.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
The next day.
They went to.
The most extreme house.
On the street.
Near which barricades were built.
They ordered the man.
To come out of the house.
And asked him:
“You have barricades here.
Did you help build them?”
And without waiting for.
An answer, they shot him.
Brave local guys were.
Delivering water in their cars.
The occupiers did not like it.
And shot them.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
The woman was.
Cooking outside.
In the yard.
Of her house.
She saw the ‘orcs’.
Got scared.
Ran to the entrance.
Closed the door.
And they opened fire.
On her with machine guns.
They killed her.
Through the door.
I was visiting my son.
In Bucha.
And that’s where.
I saw the war.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
I don’t know who.
They are fighting against.
*Because I read “«Объезжали коляской трупы мирных жителей. Не знала, как объяснить это ребенку». Исповедь жителей Бучи”(“Driving round the corpses of civilians with a pram. I didn’t know how to explain it to my child”. Confessions of Bucha residents) on 4 Apr 2022, on The Insider, 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 Игорь(Igor).
Please read the original story on The Insider:
