a war poem

Soledar and a salt mine

The mine is enormous can hide an army of Ukrainian soldiers
the thousands we thought had been killed on the battlefield
The winter is arriving late in this cursed land, no snow falls

The soil doesn’t freeze its soft embrace swallows tiger tanks.
From the salt mines, the ghost army arises in the quiet clamour
to vanquish the enemy, elated is the triumph of the deluded.

Flaring fire across the grassland, harvested grain burns bright
but ghosts are forever bloodless; the world is aghast, to see
their triumph thwarted; the magic of victory was but a dream.