Analysis of Where have the dreamy days gone

Where have the dreamy days gone

Was one of those dreamy dawns, drifting out of yesterday’s night
Swaying orange and yellow florets, dripping in mist, so bright,
And all of them falling off the bricked walls; sat a grey dove
Clutching to its breast, mercy drops sieved slowly from above.

Suddenly thinking of multitudes butchered at Butcha, the decay!
A wife’s Chilled, icy hands comforted her man so grey
her pale lips bid farewell for the last time and embraced
the careless whisper of toxic flames that just grazed
past the graveyard of memories; once prosperous wheat fields
now deserted. None to rescue from the enemy’s dreaded deeds.

Here, mornings are different, deep.  Coconut leaves wave
their long hands rather hurriedly, praising the skies to pave
way for hashed patchwork of darkest pink, purple, blue
wrapping-round the cruising clouds; they disappear without a clue
The streaking verdant leaves are quick to catch the lights
from fleeing cars on roads, together all trees ignite.

On the war-torn land is coming the dragging bumpy sound
of crocs of an early walker stumbling, on violent drones’ hound;
squeezing cold sweat, blood trickling down the forehead,
hit by debris of sharp stones, glass, a sweet child dead.

We brothers and sisters, are snug and safe, hunger we escape,
the spirit of Hitler haunting Ukraine, weathering economic rape.
Where have the dreamy days gone? trauma will long time stare
Unaware of the turmoil here, the clock ticks on there.