@Oleksandr
In the spirit of poetry I've decided to throw my hat into the ring
Bent double, like old Ukrops under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, Olek cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares Olek turned his back
And towards his distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with Ultra-nationalism; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Two o' Threes that dropped behind.
****post! ****post! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw Olek drowning.
In all my dreams, before his helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the BTR that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Slava Ukrain
