In a twenty-five storey block.
In Kyiv’s Pozniaky neighbourhood.
Home to around.
700 people.
Residents have clubbed.
Together to install.
A larger system.
In the basement.
Powerful enough to keep.
A single lift operating.
And pump hot water.
To the upper floors.
For a woman, who lives.
On the 19th floor.
With her husband and pets.
It’s a blessing.
“It’s a bizarre feeling.”
She tells you.
As you sit in a kitchen lit.
By a single battery-operated lamp.
“It’s scary.
How happy I am.
Just to have.
These basic needs.”
“That I can take.
The dog downstairs.
In the lift rather than.
On foot in the dark.”
“That I have water.
In the tap.”
After two hard winters.
She is full of praise.
For her fellow residents.
“We have a great.
Group of people.
People who are modern.”
“Who understand that.
Something can be invented.”
“Together, we’re strong.”
“Together, we’re strong.”
*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 as a story of Nataliya.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Ukraine fights to keep the lights on as Russia hammers power plants
