A Maternity Ward in Mariupol (A Poem)

A Maternity Ward in Mariupol

Held tight against the breast
the infant naively sucks
while her mother hums
soothing sounds
out the sound of mortar shells,
raining from the sky.

Eyes look deep into eyes
and all that matters in life
is wrapped up together.
Held tight,
but not tighter than death’s grip,
which clutches
the moment
burying it
under rubble.

A maternity ward sits silent
as hell continues
to seep its way onto earth,
hope in its grasp.
And the world
to notice its advance.

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