Survival Poem by Gert Strydom

1
It's night when more missiles come in,
suddenly somewhere nearby explode with destruction,
the building shakes and I smell the fine dust,
much further away bomb upon bomb is being dropped.
In the outskirts of Kiev I am amazed,
the earth shakes, something screeches nearer, the outline is faint,
their is a thunder-clap as the dome and canon thuds down,
the other enemy battle-tanks all turn around,
a RPG-7 rocket-launcher is quickly pressed into my hands,
I smell the sweet-sour odour of human-flesh burning,
a grenade is loaded as a armoured-car drives closer,
it's chilly outside, I fire and the RPG launch-tube jerks,
the armoured-car burns, jerks at my soul and brain.
We have to return to Kiev, we cannot stay here.
2

When above a fighter falls like a flaming torch,
I notice the moon bloody-red as a spectator,
I hear in the distance enemy canons thundering,
in Kiev a block of flats is hit, it flashes white,
when flames almost unstoppable appear everywhere,
there is something that at great speed hits the barracks,
another things flies up high in a semi-circle,
it's Spesnatz, from the size of it, I do realize,
when a missile hit it, it comes down in flames,
that there are humans in all of these equipment
that will be missed by parents, a wife and child
says my heart and conscience: about death I have got knowledge.
People search for children when a hospital is aflame,
from shock and emotion my teeth are clattering.
3
On the air I smell death and great fear,
fear for Putin in Russia, a terrible sociopath,
where everyone and his soldiers do hate him,
I wish that everything could be different and better,
I see bleeding children that nothing can heal,
horror when one dies and life leaves him,
there is a young-women who cries more than talk,
a newspaper blows, of which I can read the headline:
president Biden fears nuclear holocaust,
I wonder what makes a person to have no back-bone?
I know he do not want to replace fighter-jets,
America is too scared to become involved,
lives here hang more in the balance,
I hear a child pray for God to protect everyone.
[Poet's note: Spesnatz is Russian special forces.]