photo by Victoria Kharitonenko
group poem by Viktoriya Tsygipalo, Sergei Kuzmych, and Andrey,
Birthplace of my group and I
A year for me
Nine for him
Eleven for the other
Passing through the world on a long road trip trail.
Looking back to the place we called our home.
Looking back to the memories that we slowly left behind
Ghetto corners, silent houses, or a neighborhood
like a family get-together.
The nights are deadly to step into.
Wanted figures wander in the alleys,
breathing smoke and waiting for a pray to catch.
Yet, the glowing days are cheerful.
Laughter, loving couples and little smiles.
Dogs, cats, children scattered in the alleys,
running all around, waiting for a play.
Strict, smart talks like shooting bullets,
leaving stains on one another.
While closely loved ones grow
out of their home nests leaving only
Birthplace of my group and I.