
A woman, 36.
Wails in anguish.
– her agony.
Echoing around.
Echoing around.
The gilded walls of.
St Michael’s Cathedral.
In Kyiv.
She sits with.
Her hands resting.
On both sides.
Of her stomach.
She is heavily.
Pregnant with.
Her first child.
A baby girl.
Her husband is.
Just inches away.
In uniform.
– in an open coffin.
The marine commander.
Was killed in action.
In eastern Ukraine.
On 4 January this year.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
While he fought.
In the war.
She wrote about it.
As a journalist.
His brothers in arms.
File past.
Dropping red roses.
Into his coffin.
As funeral prayers.
Come to an end.
She leans forward.
And gives.
She leans forward.
And gives.
“The love of her life”.
One last kiss.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
Outside the cathedral.
She pays tribute to.
Her “most handsome husband”.
Who died for his country.
“I am sorry.
My daughter will.
Never see her father.
But she will know.”
“Never see her father.
But she will know.
That he was a soldier.
An officer.”
“And that he did everything.
He could for Ukraine.
To exist for her and.
For other generations.”
“This war will last.
As long as ‘Mordor’ does.
I truly fear.
Our children will.”
“Our children will.
Inherit it from us.
And will have to.
Go and fight.”
He is now and.
Forever 33.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
Not according to the man.
Who famously claimed.
He could end the war.
In a day.
And who returns to.
The White House next week.
He is already pushing.
For peace talks.
Between Ukraine.
And ‘Mordor’.
That would dishonour the dead.
According to the Sgt.
Who fought alongside.
Her husband and.
Came to the cathedral.
To mourn him.
“Let the people.
In power decide.
But I don’t think.
The ones who fell.”
“The ones who fell.
Would want.
‘Elves’ leadership to.
Sit around the table.”
“After the funeral.
We are heading back to work.
We will fight for.
Every ‘elves’ who fell.”
He is now and.
Forever 33.
He is now and.
Forever 33.
Plenty here believe.
– like she and the Sgt –
That far too many ‘elves’.
Have been killed.
To try to do.
A deal with ‘Mordor’.
But public opinion.
Is shifting.
And others believe.
There is too much.
Death and destruction.
Not to do a deal.
As Ukraine battles through.
Its third winter of war.
One word is now little.
Spoken here – “victory”.
*Because I read “’War will last as long as Russia does’: Ukrainian talk of victory fades as Trump returns” by Orla Guerin on 17 Jan 2025, 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 Anastasiia, Andriy and Dmytro.
Please read the original story on the BBC news: