I’m Almost Okay (Ukraine)
 

Don’t worry, I’m almost okay.

They’re shooting but still far off.

Don’t see it as weakness. It’s hard

Taking care of the kids alone.
 

I look out the window—it’s dark,

Except for the glow of blasts,

As though I’m in a film

About the madness of war.
 

So every night I cry, and I sing.

It’s well past two in the morning.

You may be fighting right now,

I must wait for you out loud.
 

And it’s best not to look at the clock,

Now that it’s almost three,

So I’m not sucker-punched

By the ticker of news.
 

Now explosions are getting close,

The trouble is aimed at us.

Save us, repel the strike,

Don’t let us die in this hell.
 

I’ll go hug the kids while they sleep,

Touch their cheeks with my lips.

Not sure why I’m doing this.

Really, I’m not afraid!
 

Especially not when I think of you.

I think of you night and day.

I hope my incantations

Become a warship for you.
 

All right, seems it’s quiet again.

Don’t forget, crying’s not our style.

I’m strong. I’m strong like our country.

Don’t worry, I’m almost okay.
 
March 3, 2022
 
 
I Look at the News of Horror
 
I look at the news of horror.

I ask: “How are you holding up?”

“Like every normal person,

I lose my mind every day.”
 

The answer is clear and honest,

It’s the only one there can be.

You cannot close your eyes

On carnage and atrocity.
 

And sanity simply goes

And short-circuits your brain

When you’re seeing and hearing

The wax of the world melt down.
 

And all you can do, with no fuss,

Since the plague hasn’t taken you yet,

Is, like every normal person,

Lose your mind every day.
 
March 14, 2022

 
Shooting is Simpler
 
Shooting is simpler than cooking borscht:

Just pull the safety, the trigger.

Military might is a terrible thing,

It blows out the last plug in the brain.
 

Cooking borscht is creative,

While shooting is easy—just do it.

Pulling the trigger, the safety,

You won’t create, only ruin.
 

And no one will cook borscht for you

As you pull the safety, the trigger,

And the world falls apart, collapsing

Into fiery shades of red.
 

But it’s not the same color as beets.

Pulling the trigger, the safety,

You won’t get to a heavenly picnic,

Just the regular furnace of hell.
 

And if at the entrance, grinding the doors,

They ask you: “Last name, first name?”

Shout, at least, that you wanted borscht,

And lie that you had bad aim.
 
March 28, 2022