Nicola POWYS
2 min readMar 6, 2022

Mothers of the World, unite…

Photo by the author

I have a Babushka.

Seven beautifully painted wooden dolls that fit snug, one inside the other –

reminding me of generations of mothers carrying their grandchildren inside themselves from birth.

A rich metaphor for Gaia — the warm, fecund Mother of our earth,

as told by the ancient brother.

I look at her again — and see Matryoshka herself –

Russia’s round, rural symbol, redolent with fertile flowers,

morphing, blank-faced into a Metropolis monster.

Twisted open by a small man with a power problem.

Now, the grainy black and white imagery of suffering and genocide re-asserts itself everywhere

like some bad B-movie that lodges in the subconscious

as row after row of red mothers line up to disgorge their stacked contents

into the fluttering blue and yellow.

Pandora style, missiles and Hell are let loose and in this Part Two of the myth,

Hope, again, sits tight.

As for the tiny despot, he un-screwed his own nature long ago.



Nicola POWYS

Artist, activist and writer using words and paint existentially. Find my artwork here: htpps//