It was the pregnant woman cradling her hope
that shook me, a brave baby born to turmoil,
no real future, freedom of speech and the liberty
to choose a path where hissing missiles and
guzzling guns will not overwhelm the fragile
life that sparks behind closed contented eyes.
–
A year ago a couple’s loving embraces creates
a foetus, cells growing and separating in her
wonderful womb – in a time of political peace
and their precious neighbours were not vilified
by Putin’s army of trolls, and a settled peoples
—
scared for their very lives as weapons wrench
the ridged roofs from their heads and harry the
poor and cancer sick lying in their winter beds.
They’re now starving, shivering, staying stalwart
in the face of agonising choices and harm,
weary women again running to find safety and
a moment of grace for their horrified children.
—-
The human love that receives us at birth has
been warped and twisted, re-modelled until
it is a hatred, which like a volcano spills its
boiling lava over a verdant land burning,
steaming death in its severing of the living
in a holocaust of terror and no one ever
wins
in
war
and
as the mother
and her
baby
dies.
