Days have passed. And I have so little to say. That I can say. So what to say now?
[i]While we have time Let us learn to sing While we have time Between the first note of the siren And the screaming air The roaring brick The crashing glass While we have time Let us learn To make a different music Let us learn While we still have time To make a difference[/i]
They are only words. Words to fill a space left vacant by the retreat of joy.
Our training done and yet no role. We are in a holding pattern. Circling like vultures. Waiting for the last gasp of breath to leave the stricken body. Then will we swoop. The fastest, the bravest of us, for the eyes. The soft, exposed flesh of the cheeks. The ears.
Trained, but for what? Trained to wait. Trained to be patient, while politicians in foreign lands, our allies, look to the opinion polls and calculate the true cost to them of fulfilling their oh so public promises. A tank here, a missile there. They have made their bold gestures, taken the public applause and the private thanks. Now, where are they?
Oh, we are an ungrateful people. Taking and demanding more. Spoiled brats, those Ukrainians! And politicians in the west, from the extreme left and the extreme right, mind-fuck buddies, declare, the quickest route to peace is to stop supplying arms to Ukraine.
Our training is done. Now we must wait for our opportunities express that training. Meanwhile, we will be redeployed. Later today, I return to Kyiv with my team. We will be put to good use, I am sure. Until our time comes.
I will return to the basement. And to the others. The Basement Diaries will, once again, make some sort of sense.
You re not an ungrateful people. You are a people for whom time is standing still. There is no past, no future, only now. And in the now, the promised systems are not there. We understand.
