The Final Call

Preface: In the quest for universal normalization of peace and love, the world has only witnessed conflicts and further distinction in transnational barriers. The following poem showcases the dream of a young, Ukrainian soldier in the quest for global tolerance, getting trapped in the clutches of the war waged by Russia. The same will be portrayed in the form of his voicemail to his mother, who was displaced to Poland. There have been millions of such voicemails tapped during war. This only encapsulates the essence in totality.

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"Slava Ukraine!" yelled a dying soldier, 

Eventually succumbing to his wounds.

With dried up tears and bated breath,

The mercenary whispered mellow tunes.

He searched for his old crimson phone,

In the trenches that stole his dreams;

Yearning a final call home,

For he saw his fate, it seems.

To voicemail did the phone revert;

He won't be shrouded in maternal hue.

In a civilian-scathing guerilla war,

Misery did not feel new.

His numbness seeped into his tears,

Carrying the mortal screams of his friends.

He stumbled upon his trembling denial,

"Is this how a war ends?"

His dreams got stuck in Bakhmut's spoils;

Burial sites that did not spare teens.

Yet the sleazy international narrative

Only cares where the conflict leans.

"If only I could hear your voice,"

Wept the soldier, down and blue.

Hearing ballistics fired in the distance, 

He knew his moments were few.

"I didn't know the world would fail me, Ma;

But in reality, do I lie.

What wouldn't I give for my last words for you

To be but a battle cry."

He did all but avert a Russian eye;

Epidermal holes were all he could see;

Perishing with his dimming words,

"I wish for a world where we could be free."