With the full-scale invasion’s.
Third winter arriving.
City streets are.
Once again buzzing.
Once again buzzing.
And roaring to.
The sound of generators.
Small and large.
The street lamps.
May be off.
But shops and restaurants.
Are brightly lit.
Diesel fumes.
Hang heavy.
In the chill winter air.
In the chill winter air.
In tower blocks.
Where power cuts.
Put lifts.
Out of action.
And prevent hot water.
From reaching.
The upper floors.
Residents already used to.
Residents already used to.
Keeping power banks.
And flashlights to hand.
Are starting to innovate.
Some have invested.
In batteries and inverters.
For their homes.
Which kick in.
Which kick in.
As soon as.
The power goes off.
The power goes off.
With the full-scale invasion’s.
Third winter arriving.
City streets are.
Once again buzzing.
Once again buzzing.
And roaring to.
The sound of generators.
Small and large.
The street lamps.
May be off.
But shops and restaurants.
Are brightly lit.
Diesel fumes.
Hang heavy.
In the chill winter air.
In the chill winter air.
*Because I read “Ukraine fights to keep the lights on as Russia hammers power plants” by Paul Adams on 29 Nov 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.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Ukraine fights to keep the lights on as Russia hammers power plants
