24th February.
Ukraine invaded at 5.55 AM . I cannot believe those beautiful young men and women too are in for the slaughter, the bloodbaths of Putin propaganda. I was never touched by the war poetry of the first world war, I respected it, but it didn’t hurt. Today it does. Today Owen’s words ring as harsh as tinnitus into my psyche.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmer of goodbyes.
The pallor of girl’s brows shall be their pall;
Today, as I hold in mind the News of a glorious youth talking/stalking beneath camouflage head-ware that looked more fit for ‘A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream’ than Putin’s messianic bloodbath, Wilfred Owen’s requiem takes on reality rather than being memory.