Air-Raid Sirens On Sveridova Street
The unmistakable sound smacks of
church bells in purgatory -- our family
has burnt the last candles in the damp basement
crawling with mice.
Neighbors offer their flashlight, under the thunderous explosions above
rocking the building.
Toddlers cry and dogs bark, older women reminisce WWII's horrors
which they survived, and will survive again.
It's morning again, militias bring hot bread and
milk for the new-born hurried from hospital that fell to Russian missile,
intercepted. Last night here,
death was intercepted again, prolonging the Russian misery.
The air-raid sirens are now music to ear, their scratching noise filling the air
with epic serenity.
The sirens haven't robbed me of my
human potential.
Bang another explosion
I flinch back downstairs again
My heartbeats in my toes
It’s only a half past 7.
Copyright © Kaveh Afrasiabi | Year Posted 2022
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