Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
A 33-year-old.
Had been sheltering.
In the enormous.
Azovstal steelworks.
The final stronghold.
In the city.
As it was surrounded by.
‘Orcs’ forces in spring 2022.
She had taken cover.
In one of dozens of.
Soviet-era bomb shelters.
Built to withstand nuclear war.
Deep beneath.
The industrial plant.
“You go down.
A semi-collapsed staircase.”
“Move through passages.
And tunnels.
And go further and.
Further down.”
“Finally, you reach this.
Concrete cube, a room.”
She was working with.
The army’s Azov brigade.
In the bunker.
Alongside soldiers.
And civilians.
As a press officer.
There, too, was her fiancé.
A 34-year-old.
‘Elf’ army officer.
Defending the plant.
Relentless ‘orcs’ bombing.
Had turned.
Streets into ruins and.
Courtyards into graveyards.
But several metres.
Underground in.
The south-eastern ‘elves’ city.
A romance was blooming.
The pair had found.
Each other through work.
Mariupol’s Border Guard Agency.
Around three years before the siege.
“He was special.
It felt so warm.
To be around him.
He was always kind.”
“And never refused.
To help anyone.”
When he met her.
It was love at first sight.
He knew how to be happy.
And found joy in small things:
Sunny weather, smiles.
Friends’ company.
He was an optimist.
“On the first day we met.
I realised he was.
Very different to others.”
Within three months.
They had moved in together.
Renting a small one-storey house.
In Mariupol with a garden.
The couple started building.
A life together.
“We travelled a lot.
Went to the mountains, met friends.”
“We fished together and.
Spent lots of time outdoors.
We visited theatres.
Concerts and exhibitions.”
“Life was full.”
They decided to get married.
And dreamed of a big church wedding.
With family and friends.
They picked wedding rings.
She quit her job.
And began to nurture.
Her creative side.
Writing and publishing poems.
About the earlier years.
Of fierce fighting.
With ‘Mordor’ in Mariupol.
“For a couple of years.
Before the full-scale invasion.
I was truly happy.”
Everything changed in February 2022.
Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
Spring had brought the sun.
To the couple’s garden.
And the first flowers.
Were appearing.
“I was starting.
To enjoy spring.
We knew about.
‘The One’’s threats.”
“And realised.
There would be a war.
But I didn’t want to.
Think about it.”
A few days before.
24 February.
He urged her to leave the city.
She refused.
“I knew that.
No matter what happened.
I had to be in Mariupol.
I had to defend my city.”
Relentless ‘orcs’ bombing.
Had turned.
Streets into ruins and.
Courtyards into graveyards.
But several metres.
Underground in.
The south-eastern ‘elves’ city.
A romance was blooming.
Weeks later.
They were both.
Underground.
In the Azovstal bunkers.
They only got to see.
Each other occasionally.
But when they did those were.
Moments of “pure happiness”.
At this point.
Mariupol was nearing.
A humanitarian catastrophe.
Mariupol was doomed.
Strikes to infrastructure.
Had cut water and.
Power supplies to parts of the city.
And there were food shortages.
Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
On 15 April.
A large bomb was dropped.
On the plant.
She narrowly escaped death.
“I was found.
Among dead bodies.
The only one alive.”
“The only one alive.”
“On the one hand.
A miracle.
But on the other.
A terrible tragedy.”
She had to spend.
Eight days in.
An underground hospital.
In the plant.
With severe concussion.
“The smell of blood.
And rot was.
Everywhere.”
“It was a very scary place.
Where our wounded comrades.
With amputated limbs.
Were lying everywhere.”
“They couldn’t get.
Proper help because.
There were very few.
Medical supplies.”
Relentless ‘orcs’ bombing.
Had turned.
Streets into ruins and.
Courtyards into graveyards.
But several metres.
Underground in.
The south-eastern ‘elves’ city.
A romance was blooming.
He was deeply worried.
For her after her injury.
And started planning a wedding.
Right there, in the bunker.
“It felt like he was.
In a hurry.
Like we wouldn’t have.
Any more time.”
“He made a couple of.
Wedding rings out of tin foil.
With his own hands.
And asked me to marry him.”
“Of course, I said yes.
He was the love of my life.
And our rings made of tin foil.
They were perfect.”
On 5 May.
The couple were married.
By a commander stationed.
At the plant.
They had a ceremony.
In the bunker.
Wearing their uniforms.
As wedding attire.
He promised his wife.
That they would have.
A proper wedding.
When they returned home.
A proper wedding.
When they returned home.
With real rings.
And a white dress.
Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
Two days later.
On 7 May.
he was killed.
In action.
At the steel plant.
By ‘orcs’ shelling.
She didn’t find out.
About it straight away.
“People often say.
You feel something inside.
When a loved one dies.
But I, on the contrary.”
“But I, on the contrary.
Was in a good mood.
I was married.
And in love.”
One of the hardest things.
Was having to hold.
In a “lump of grief”.
As she was defending her city.
“I was a bride.
I was a wife.
And now I am a widow.
The scariest word.”
“I could not react.
The way I wanted to.
At that moment.
My boys were always around.”
“They sat next to me.
They slept next to me.
They brought me food.
And supported me.”
Alongside “her boys”.
– comrades – at Azovstal.
“I could only cry.
When they weren’t watching.”
Relentless ‘orcs’ bombing.
Had turned.
Streets into ruins and.
Courtyards into graveyards.
But several metres.
Underground in.
The south-eastern ‘elves’ city.
A romance was blooming.
At one point.
It felt like the fear of being.
In the war zone was.
Blunted by her grief.
“I didn’t care any more…
You just understand that.
There are many.
More people.”
“Waiting for you.
In the next world.
If it exists.
Than there are here with you.”
Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
The ‘elves’ soldiers.
At Azovstal.
Finally surrendered.
On 20 May.
She found herself among.
The 900 prisoners of war.
Forcibly taken by.
The ‘orcs’ military out of Mariupol.
“We stared through.
The windows of the bus.
At those buildings.
We loved.”
“We stared through.
The windows of the bus.
At those streets.
We knew so well.”
“They destroyed and killed.
Everything I loved.
My city, my friends.
And my husband.”
Relentless ‘orcs’ bombing.
Had turned.
Streets into ruins and.
Courtyards into graveyards.
But several metres.
Underground in.
The south-eastern ‘elves’ city.
A romance was blooming.
She survived 11 months.
Of ‘orcs’ captivity.
And has told of torture and abuse.
He often appeared in her dreams.
In April last year.
She was released.
As part of a prisoner exchange.
And is now back in Ukraine.
Sometimes she looks.
To the sky.
And speaks to him.
The love of her life.
As far as she knows.
Her husband’s body remains.
At the Azovstal steel plant.
In the now-occupied city.
*Because I read “I married the love of my life in a Ukrainian bunker – then he was killed” by Diana Kuryshko & Sarah Shebbeare on 8 June 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 Valeria and Andriy.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
**My friend kindly shows you this poem in one page of the Ukrainian website for their children and others!
Please join them! You can read my 100 poems here at once.
