(I am a man)
62 years old
(I am 62 years old)
he is the only person left living in a partly destroyed block of flats
(I live in a friendly neighborhood and my house is intact)
in a Ukrainian war zone
(I don't live in a war zone)
one year on from the start of the war
(a war he had nothing to do with)
he has seven damaged flights of stairs to climb
(My house hasn't got access issues like that)
to reach his war ravaged flat, which he calls home
(I am safe and secure)
with no heating
(I have heating)
and no clean running water
(I have clean running water)
his toilet doesn't work
(mine works, in fact I have two!)
as the cistern cracked when it froze
(my climate is less harsh)
a Ukrainian winter is very unforgiving
(the weather here isn't likely to take my life)
he is wrapped up against the cold, 24/7
(I sit here in my shirt sleaves and slippers)
his resources are low
(I go to a fully stock supermarket every Friday and can afford to buy just what we want)
he cooks what food he can find
(I have choices)
his only pleasure is to watch a grainy picture on a small television,
lashed up in the corner of his partly damaged lounge
(life brings me many pleasures)
he lives in fear
(I don't live in fear)
his face has lost its smile
(I have so many things to smile about)
his face is that of a 62 year old man who has lived in a war zone for one whole year
(I've never even been anywhere near a war zone)
...a war that was not of his doing
a war that his country cannot be blamed for
a war that the aggressors cannot justify
a war that has broken this man - he is a broken man
his life means nothing to him
his eyes say more than his mouth has ever said
the way he shuffles around
his head bowed
not wanting to make eye contact with anyone
not wanting anyone to read his face
not wanting to allow people to look into those eyes
eyes which feel so much pain
not wanting to allow people to read the dispare in his soul
and the hate he feels for those who have done this to him
