Ivan 18 years old a Russian soldier
born in the ugly suburbs of Moscow
now captured by Chechen rebels,
was told to bend down on his knees
and the cold muzzle of a pistol
was pressed at the back of his head.
He was paralysed and voices of the rebels sounded
as they were talking through cotton wool,
warm pee ran down his thighs.
The pressure eased and a voice said
that they were not going to kill him after all.
Life surged through Ivan’s veins
and suddenly he felt ashamed
that he had peed on himself,
as hope blossomed
and Ivan smiled
they shot him dead,
threw his warm body down a latrine ditch;
brutalised laughter and cigarette smoke.
When Russian soldiers found Ivan
they swore to do the same
and worse to the rebels
and so wars go on
one grotesque act more senseless than the other,
till the enemy is dehumanised,
vermin that deserves to die.
Compassion, this costly gift
is only reserved for fellow soldiers in the platoon.