Modern Poetry

 To Ella

When she went to Ukraine, I was moved by her actions, so I wrote a poem dedicated to all the women who supported Ukraine in resisting the Russian invasion!
Written on the recent “Bucha Massacre” in Ukraine
To Ella
A literary friend, a young and beautiful female engineer named Ella, went to the Polish border to help enhance Ukraine’s military defense capabilities…
2022/4/10
Chian du

You arrived by the banks of the Vistula River,
Facing the cool breeze from the distant Dnieper River,
Accompanied by some storks flying in horror.
Their bodies were wrapped in the smoke and gunpowder of explosions,
Their wings fluttered you see that smoke fluttered with the wind.
Their mournful cries pierce your chest,
You heard the dense gunfire from the town of Bucha,
And the thunderous explosions of tanks firing at civilians,
The most grating sound was the arrogant laughter of the Russian army,
Mixed with the sorrowful cries of the people of Bucha.
You watched helplessly as those wounded storks descended,
They landed next to you, full of sadness and helplessness.
You saw the beautiful white feathers of the storks,
Stained with glaring, blood-red stains.
That was the blood of countless civilians in Bucha,
They bled in the bombardment by the Russian army,
Dyeing every street and alley of the city red,
Splattering on the feathers of various birds,
They scattered in fear, panic, and piercing screams,
Flying towards Europe, seeking refuge in the corners of the world,
Revealing the bloody brutality of the Russian army in contemporary society.
In the shimmering tears of the storks’ trembling irises,
You see children screaming in terror tied to Russian tanks,
The Russian soldiers who were grinning fiercely strangled their necks,
You saw countless women being kidnapped by Russian soldiers,
Those Russian monsters swarmed up and brutally raped them,
And then their dismembered bodies were thrown on the streets.
You gently reached out to touch those storks,
Trying to wipe away the smoke and gunpowder from their bodies,
The feathers of the stork are covered with the hot tears of your sorrow,
You attempted to wash away the bloodstains of the Ukrainian people with your tears.
You closed your eyes and listened to the sorrowful cries of the storks,
A silent prayer for those victims is whispered in your heart.
On the banks of the river spring pansies are blooming,
They are those different faces staring at you mournfully.
You saw people from around the world filled with anger,
Concentrating to listen to your prayers, the cries in your heart.
The Vistula River flowed silently and slowly,
The Vistula River surged and roiled beneath the calm surface,
Converging towards the Baltic Sea, converging towards the Atlantic,
Turning into a tsunami to engulf the brutal Russian army,
Fighting against the tyrant who orchestrated the massacre!
I saw you standing by the banks of the Vistula River,
Under the sky, your face was beautiful and mournful.
The cool wind from the Dnieper River blew,
Caressing your clothes and your flowing golden hair,
From then on the banks of the Vistula superimpose your indelible projection…