The Ukraine, poetry by Ray Whitaker at
Rostislav Artov

The Ukraine

The Ukraine

written by: Ray Whitaker


The people there will try to make their lives
resembling something like normalcy
which is sorta like life inside an F5 tornado.

A child plays the piano in the lobby
of a major hotel, as
the Russian advance moves in on that city.

Smoke pours out of Ukrainian radar installations
we do not see the dead inside them
burned beyond human recognizability.

Putin the megalomaniac will never care
about anything but force.
Never care, never.

Waiting until the last possible second
to flee the violence,
the populace flees in long lines into the horizon.

People there -shopkeepers, farmers, husbands, wives, and their children-
are dying, the civilians always do, en masse
bearing the brunt of aggression.

The newsies are ranting
some look like rabid animals
they are screaming questions, frothing.

tears for them are shed ‘round the world
we are centurions so war-like for the long centuries
the old warriors fade away, there are so many new ones.

The bleating about one country resounds to the stars above
who will answer: will it stop with democratic death of only Ukraine?

The Eagle and the Bear are watched by the Dragon.

Murder has now a new definition.

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