Poetry Corner: His Putin-ness, His Ezelensky



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



Your Putin-ness

Your Ezelensky

Was there no other way to come this far

Than this war?


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