The day lay on the street,
Cold as a shell
That did not explode \u2013
But in every heart, there is a fracture.
In the city, there are no doors left \u2013
Only openings into memory.
And the sky, like parchment,
Was written over with screams.
I saw a child searching
Not for a mother \u2013 but for a voice.
Because voices in this war \u2013
Are the only thing that still holds.
And yesterday\u2019s houses,
Like weary giants,
Fell to their knees
Before their own ruin.
Someone said: \u201cWe will endure,\u201d
But they did not know that the wind also weeps.
Even the air here has blood within it,
And even silence \u2013 screams.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The day lay on the street,Cold as a shellThat did not explode \u2013But in every heart, there is a fracture. In the city, there are no doors left \u2013Only openings into memory.And the sky, like parchment,Was written over with screams. I saw a child searchingNot for a mother \u2013 but for a voice.Because voices in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[122,121],"zbirnyk":[],"class_list":["post-4492","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-death","tag-war"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n