Our Kyiv

It is shining without me; I know it must be. 

The sky is shining, 

and the butterflies flit free. 

No doubt in my guessing from heaven of blessing. 

The Motherland’s steel is shining as well. 

The will is rising to the heavens above. 

And I’ll see my past self in clouds that move. 

Here it's spring, but in the Dnipro they've swum.  

Children splash in our river, sand full of snakes they've shoved. 

Next to a pedestrian bridge, they jump without fear of death, 

Through the gusty winds, they see the city so clear. 

To see golden domes and tall buildings, they're near. 

Warmth will pass with goosebumps from the sun's rays, 

And I'll tremble with exhilaration 

of Kyiv's intention to bring summer to us. 

Oh Kyiv, how I miss you! 

I want to leave the noisy metro station, 

Where we pushed each other, shouting with friends, our voices loud. 

Music blaring, defying the crowd. 

Oh Kyiv! How I miss you! 

I want to ask again where to go this time. 

To the Kontratova square? 

Where the wheels spin, where musicians play. 

Where teenagers drink alcohol night and day. 

Where the heart beats with happiness and freedom. 

Or take a few steps and go to the post square? 

Pass by skateboarders who block all the paths. 

And run with thoughts of tomorrow’s sun 

with tears on our faces. 

It doesn't matter to our city. 

It will accept you any way, without any pity. 

The most important thing is to be alive! 

Feel it yourself, walk on the edges of a knife. 

Climb the bald mountain, next to Ocean Mall. 

Stay there if you're at peace in your heart. 

And enjoy the placid present. 

Oh, how I miss you! 

For you, my Kyiv! 

For plans on how I will continue to contemplate our city. 

How I will find new places. 

And write prose about houses 

Whole houses... 

I miss you, how do I miss! 

But now I can only dream about this.  

I dream of the past, of those days, 

when shards didn't pierce our hearts, 

When explosions didn't engulf my place. 

Where my soul used to find the arts. 

I dream of hearing the nightingale's song 

Instead of the cries of local gulls. 

I'm not myself here, there's no place for me, all is wrong.  

My place is there, where the rays caress the river waves 

My place is there, where my sins remained 

Where it's become quieter with hours on the timer, 

Where people have started walking again, unafraid of rockets  

War won't scare us 

And we'll hear the nightingale's song again.