Dears,
Your Highness
Your Excellency
Our weary souls are groaning
Our worried hearts are tattooed with pain
Out of the abundance of our hearts
Our mouth speak
Our shaking hands write with trembling fingers
We write to turn your attention to the war
To rumours of more wars
We write to inquire about your intention for the war
We write to warn of the fallout from the war
To those that fall victim to the war
This war this far
How far?
Has it already gone too far?
Have you got what you want from a war?
Was there no other way to come this far
Than this war?
Our hearts mourn each morn when we see the sun
Our hands drop at each pop of the gun
Our eyes wet with each drop of a soul
Our souls groan at each dead soul
Our nights have turned into nightmares
Our people have lost abodes
Our families have left home
To find a home outside the home
Our kinsmen have lost the means to an income
Our children live in care homes
Our children are fatherless
As the war rages on
Inflation flares the flames of fiscal percentages
A hole appears in our central pocket
As the war prolongs
A lull visits our general budget
The poor pretend to attend our empty markets
The oil in our pumps have drained
Strained out of pipes and tunnels
The price of our oil have shot to the skies
To embrace the smoking gun in the skies
In the heat of the war
Our wheat cuts a long journey short
A ship’s wreck works to drain the grains
In the tug of the war
Our bread and butter
Are battered by a cluster of bombs
And from missiles thrown from drones
Dears,
Your Putin-ness
Your Ezelensky
Was there no other way to come this far
Than this war?
