Poem
When I think of you,
I am taught to be at peace.
All this while humanity
plays out a never ending siege.
You are earth and painful memory,
still, upholding hope, strength,
Xатынь.
My eyes demurely
gaze over birch trees.
They grow unshaken,
softly stir their leaves.
All these clouds above you parted,
sunrays poured over us.
No door is left
to stop the entry to your house.
Just a humble guest
from another time.
Can I come in, is it alright?
Gravel covers the ground and
with each step they bury my feet.
I halt and wait.
The bell tolls, no child laughs.
We are surrounded by numbers.
Author: Kezban Celik