***
City of seven winds:
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
(every day is a new wind),
Thursday, Friday, Saturday…
I cuddle into the coat
to make sure my soul won’t be blown away.
Sunday…
The wind from my country,
is heavy, leaden,
when it blows, it’s hard to collect memories.
God – that’s us,
and our old homes,
we release a dove from the thatch,
so you can recognize us,
won’t confuse us with someone else.
We are still small.
But all is ahead of us.
translated from Ukrainian by Bogdan Boychuk