WAKA is 'the music of the Primes'.

“Then we would see.

People searching for guns.

And queuing at.

Enlistment centres again.”

 

 

On the outskirts of Odesa.

He appeared sheepishly.

At the door of.

His apartment block.

 

Using his seven-year-old.

Daughter as a shield.

The IT engineer will not.

Leave the house without her.

 

As he knows the officers.

Cannot snatch him.

If they are together.

He is in hiding.

 

Last year.

While on his way to work.

He was ordered.

Off a bus.

 

By the military.

At gun point, he said.

And taken to.

An enlistment centre.

 

He convinced the officers to.

Let him go to fetch some documents.

But vowed to himself.

He would never return.

 

“I’m not a military man.

I’ve never held a weapon.

I don’t think I can be useful.

On the front line.”

 

He then reeled off.

The same list of.

Reasons given by every.

Draft dodger you spoke to.

 

There is somewhat.

Of a disconnect.

They are holding out.

For an ‘elves’ victory.

 

Just one that.

Does not involve them.

There is somewhat.

Of a disconnect.

 

“I am proud that many men.

Made the brave decision.

To go to the front line.

They are truly the best of our country.”

 

 

“Then we would see.

People searching for guns.

And queuing at.

Enlistment centres again.”

 

 

The group of conscripts.

At this Kyiv training camp.

Are mostly in their late.

40s and 50s.

 

At a conscript training camp.

In a forest outside Kyiv.

Its leader breathed.

Heavy sighs.

 

As he supervised men.

With shovels digging foxholes.

“It might look like.

Banal work.”

 

“But this is as important.

As being able to.

Fire artillery.

It could save their lives”.

 

He is a patriotic volunteer.

With revolutionary spirit.

He oversees the mandatory.

34-day training programme.

 

All conscripts must complete.

Before being despatched.

To their military units.

He stressed repeatedly that.

 

These men would not.

Be sent to the front line.

Straight away, and that.

Further training would follow.

 

 

“Then we would see.

People searching for guns.

And queuing at.

Enlistment centres again.”

 

 

On a break from training.

The leader’s cohort of.

Conscripts sat.

Smoking and joking.

 

They were a rag-tag group.

Mostly in their late 40s and 50s.

A pig breeder, a warehouse manager.

And a builder.

 

Who admitted they would.

Rather not be there.

But nor did these men want to.

Spend the rest of the war in hiding.

 

One of them had already.

Opted to become.

A drone pilot.

“I’m pretty scared.”

 

“This is all new to me.

But I have to do it.”

But the 33-year-old.

Tram engineer did not judge.

 

Those choosing to hide.

“I’ve made my choice.

They can make theirs.”

He shrugged.

 

 

“Then we would see.

People searching for guns.

And queuing at.

Enlistment centres again.”

 

 

The leader was troubled.

By how unmotivated.

His new arrivals were.

The leader was troubled.

 

Despite the daily.

Reminders of war.

The air raid sirens.

And rolling power cuts.

 

He believes the threat of war.

Has grown too distant.

For those living in.

The relative safety of cities.

 

Such as Odesa and Kyiv.

He believes the threat of war.

Has grown too distant.

For those living in.

 

And he fears it will take.

Another major ‘orcs’ advance.

To spur ‘elves’ draft dodgers.

Into action.

 

 

“Then we would see.

People searching for guns.

And queuing at.

Enlistment centres again.”

 

 

*Because I read “Conscription squads send Ukrainian men into hiding” by Jean Mackenzie on 17 Jun 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 Vova, a story of Hennadiy Sintsov, and a story of Oleksandr.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:

Ukraine war: Conscription squads send Ukrainian men into hiding (bbc.com)