By F.L. Page
We stand on the battlefield, boots mired in mud.
The ground rumbles, the sky shakes, and the sound of our own screaming echoes in our heads, trapped inside by blood and bone. Louder than the bombs falling a few meters away, louder than the end of the world.
Our vision is gray. Gray ground, crumbling concrete, rubble reaching for a darkened sky. Gray metal tanks, weapons, soldiers in the storm.
Our hearts have turned to stone, but even stone cries sometimes.
Color is trampled underfoot, the gold of sun-dipped fields of wheat, the blue of a glorious cerulean sky.
Slava Ukraini!
My husband and I were both very moved by this. It brings the tragedy to our hearts.
Ukraine immediately comes to mind and my heart breaks. I am as helpless as trapped civilians and soldiers. And I am sorry. So sorry. I do what I can but I can’t make it stop. The world is insane.
Wonderfully written.
Smert? Putinu i Trampu! Dovhykh rokiv zhyttya Zelens?komu!
Khay Ukrayina bude vichno vil?noyu.