The sky is blue
The sky is blue in Dublin
This bright end of February morning
The sun shines through the wooden blinds
Onto the yellow duvet of my sick bed.
The clouds gather over Kyiv
And the panicked population
Surprised as we that war might visit
This continent again.
The golden spires of Kyiv Churches
Are glinting in the sun while bombs rain down
Not far away the traffic lines the streets
To flee a city ahead of Russian tanks.
I am old enough to remember clearly
The Cossacks killing women armed with sticks
On paper stands of nineteen fifty six
And then the quenching of the fire in sixty eight.
The Russians haven’t gone away we know
Weakened, poorer but drunk on power
And memories of a long lost Empire
The most dangerous dream of all.
Let’s not blame the Russian people
Who have no quarrel with their Kyiv cousins
Yet again it’s men in suits who send the young
To fight their bloody wars.
Women of Kyiv I weep for you
For your sons outgunned by tanks
Whose guns will hardly make a mark
On an army drilled for years.
Does Lightning strike again?
Does killing always return?
Does human nature change a bit
Are we condemned to constant war?
We salute the men who died this morning
And the many others falling into a frozen grave
We shall remember them by keeping lit
The flame of freedom in our hearts.
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