The Flags
At Maidan square
SOME SAY IT ALL STARTED HERE over ten years ago now, with the Revolution of Dignity. Who knows. I walk among the flags and photos, finding some I knew so well, recognising them in a blur as I fight tears. Over there, the Colombians, the Brits, a tiny island of flags among the blue and yellow waves.
I see the Portuguese flags, the Finns, Poland, Estonia, others. Two Dutch men are searching a solitary Dutch flag. They seemed anxious to find one, and as I stood nearby I wanted to tell them about their countryman Rom, who I served with in 2022, and who stepped on a mine and died. But my very heart is filled with grief and I do not dare open my mouth for fear of not being able to speak.
The Orange One pursues his fantasies in the Middle East, while here in Kyiv the flags continue to flutter, almost forgotten. Intelligence has warned that in two days, the night of the 4th and 5th, we can expect another massive attack. From the skies the missiles and Shahed drones will come again. I do not even know which world I live in anymore, only that I feel an unbearable closeness to the men and women who fell for this land so undeserving of cruel war.
the past is not always another country— yesterday...all my troubles etc
Written for dverse — I made a quick trip to Kyiv to pay homage.
My heart breaks for all the violence in the world, much of it occasioned by the orange one.
Two things hit me in this, the tender grief and the absolute insanity of it all. A poem that claws at my gut.