Peace

Душа моя, это нормально, не за что извиняться. Чтобы быть друг у друга не нужно жить в одном подъезде.


I am missing my brother’s birthdays. One after another.
I missed his divorce, his lovely new girlfriend, his possible child.
I missed every chair, table and shelf made by my brother.
I miss his laugh, his jokes, his stories and smile.

I will probably miss my grandma’s last words and breath.
Won’t be there at the funeral, won’t toss a handful of soil.
Won’t be there to console her when she is meeting with death,
Will be miles away, feeling tears going slow by my face, like oil.

It’s my fault, my choice, my solution, my embrace of the war,
Choose yourself, don’t return to the country where you were naive.
Stay intact, stay in place, don’t you cry, European whore,
You’re outside, not your problem, feel lucky that you could leave.

There is nothing to change, no place to return,
No childhood, no rights, no freedom, no people, no home.
With each year you can feel, you can smell how the bridges burn,
Smell petrol and gunpowder, smell of wet catacombs.

There is nothing to change. But there is something to give.
I can give her a chance, I can gather the money, ask people to share,
She does not count on it, can’t afford to believe.
So, I’m counting for her, giving all that I have this affair.

I cannot change my country, what’s left going slowly to death,
I’ll be brave just for her, my lighthouse, my bellowed heart,
I will try everything, every corner and person, every hopeful breath,
When I will get you out, I’ll sleep well, cause I did my part.

When despite all the horrors, the real-life implications,
You’ll be far, you’ll be safe, and the terrors will miss.
Then I’ll know that I helped, I have built for my friend a foundation.
So I can wipe my tears and finally be at peace.