in the harrowing hours
in the watches of the night
safety too far to run to,
an oasis for only some...
hunkered down in their corridors
when terror, when the Shaheds come...
their sounds now familiar -
the roar of the missiles,
the whine of the drones,
awake on their mats...
holding their breaths
when sleep will not come...
a people on guard
in harrowing moments,
a bag at the ready
ever ready to run
to head for shelter
when the Moskals come...
a people exhausted
by years of war, terror,
holding onto humanity
waiting in their bathtubs,
with their best underwear,
Hoping sleep will come..
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