It had to be summer and harvest
but time that had come is the hardest
long winter has come,
I feel like I'm numb.

These days would be a vacation,
but millions will never return,
they wanted for me isolation
but my borders expand.

They fired at us,
but phoenix reborn,
no sense to discuss
mother tongue.

They plucked our flowers
"forbade" us to live,
our scatter through world now empowers
to remember and never forgive.

They plucked our flowers
"forbade" us to live,
our scatter through world now empowers
to remember and never forgive.

Stones and sand fly from under the wheels,
wherever this terrible road leads
it's a one-way ticket of fate
for them to the end, for us is to win.

--
(Ukrainian):
Це мали бути літо та жнива,
це мало бути щастя та турбота,
та склалася, на жаль, зима,
в очах тепер не радість, а скорбота.

Були б ці дні відпусткою для нас,
та не повернуться, на жаль, мільйони.
Вони хотіли відібрати у нас час,
а вийшло, що розширили кордони.

Вони робили нам вогневий вал,
а ми як фенікс ся рождали,
самі перекладаються слова
на мову, що раніше зневажали.

Вони зривали наш рожевий цвіт,
красиво жити нам “забороняли”,
а ми розпорошились на весь світ,
і їх відтоді звідусіль ганяли.

Із-під коліс летить каміння і пісок,
куди б не вела ця страшна дорога,
від долі це в один кінець квиток,
їм до кінця, а нам - до перемоги.

Transform my sorrow into gold,
For in the furnace of despair,
Life redefines its purpose,
Crafting beauty from the broken.

The day you died you took my soul with you.
You are Gentle as the mornings sunshine,
I Know my soul is with you
and I want YOU to come back.
I pass by your grave
and talk with the dead.
Every time I remember that you are there, my heart shrinks deeper than the ocean's- end.
I go to your room, everything is still there like you are coming back.
Death is strange,
I can feel your soul but your body,
it will never come back.
The grief eats me up alive,
Death is strange and my inner child cries.

it terrifies me sometimes…
the ugliness that smears the world -
with shades of despair, and evils unheard.

there’re things you hear, and learn, and know,
and wonder how mankind could stoop so low.
your fury knows what must be done, yet -
powerless you watch the madness grow.

the night is no longer the custodian of evil;
we see it day in, and day out.
the morning news, the afternoon bites;
come evening, you’d rather gouge your eyes out.

the screams of anguish of a woman bent over -
on the tasteless floor, her innocence devoured.
the wrath of a community, on the back of one man,
who dared speak his mind - his life is over!  

the game of politics,
the lies, the trecheries;
men without jobs - or homes -
living on the streets.
an animal slain to please a God,
as a child watches,
only to repeat.

yet it all goes on,
as though a **** in the wind.
the world tells you,
‘grow up, man! grow a thick skin.’
i wish i could tell you otherwise -
a story not so bleak.
but there…
they probably beheaded a son before his mother,
as we speak.

I now kneel upon the barren earth of my desolate garden,
Clutching a soiled ***** with these scraped, fractured hands.
With this ugly design to dig up each raw fragment of my wounded self,
Dread and terror encircle me, like phantoms lurking in the depths of night,
Their icy grip growing even tighter with each passing breath.
I tear through every inch of my flesh, peeling skin to the bone,
Until the decaying corpus of my inner child unveils itself.
My cries reverberate, and my voice thunders through the shadows of the relentless night
Upon the discovery of such a harrowing crime by my soul.
I flee in pursuit of aid, chasing the promise of never returning back to the cursed garden,
Yet, the pitiless tempests of life redirect my course back to that sombre place,
Like a puppeteer’s hand steering a marionette, destined to revisit the obscurity once more.
Oh, how I long to pluck out mine eyes,
Unseam these veins, and drain my earthly vessel of its crimson essence,
So that I can cradle the petite, half-rotten body lying there, within my yearning arms.
But let me just lie here, until I am lifted up to another world,
One bathed in luminescence, adorned with gilded splendour and ethereal beauty of dreams.

Presiding over the corpses that could’ve been, the constant tides of pain roll over your bare toes. Matching the flow of fear that rises and falls as you despair at the sight of the sea that stares through you, to the little boy who wishes for nothing more than the warm embrace of the one that brought him to these cold shores.

It’s not the vastness of the sea of possibilities that you fear but what lies beneath the surface of dreams that bubble forth once you decide to dive in.

Time stands still while the bodies continue to pile at your feet, with every breath you baptise them to a place of purgatory without realising that even in your condemnation, their souls still yearn for what they were unable to attain.

From the seeds of grief that continue to depart from the essence of yourself, comes forth a tree of redemption. In the grooves of its leaves can be read the route to your salvation, if you so wish. As you trace your hand along the smooth bark, pieces fall to your feet ready to be of service and fashioned into a vessel fit for carrying the ever-growing load you choose to burden yourself with.

You know that there is no port that allows the docking of such heavy cargo but you want nothing more than to escape the sight of the shores that have become littered with the dregs of yourself.

So row you will to shores unknown, in hopes of being released from the reflection that exposes you at every glance.

It is not until you have steeled yourself to depart that you realise, before your journey begins, you must cut the chain that still tethers you to the remnants of yourself. For the wood from this tree has not the strength to carry those who are not yet able to let go of what has been lost. Strive to close the eyes that will never see themselves in glory and shift your gaze to horizons anew. And as you do, that ever-growing load halts and with the coming and going of the tide, starts its own journey to the depth where its grave awaits.

Lighter, you hesitate as you enter, unsure of what this journey will bring. As you begin to row, you immediately notice what a task it will be, as you realise it is not just the water you’re working against as you move forward.

You look down through the surface to the darkness below, you can’t help but feel a deep pang of longing for what was, you recognise the crippling weight of what held you but also the comfort that it brought.

The unchanging cares for us and chains us.

But as you return your gaze to the ever-distant horizon, the little boy appears seated in front of you. No longer seeking the embrace of another but himself, he places his hands upon yours as you row so that the weight of what you’re leaving behind is much easier to carry.