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Prologue

It was the end of the third summer month,
The usual day full of games and fun,
The country was overflowed with sun and love,
Thinking of present, future and past.

Three weeks of that month passed,
The end of student´s free time advanced,
The every minute of our lives pulsed,
Without thinking it could be collapsed.

That night the town´s skyline changed.
Darkness rubbed in bright Phoenix lines,
And roars of tanks
Filled the air with burnt fuels.
Those tinny monsters flew through streets,
Arranging abandoned fortress.

The sun rose as in a usual day,
The last hours of school freedom days,
It was time to rush down the stairs,
To meet friends for holiday games.

There were already some guys,
Standing in silent surprise,
Staring at figure in front of them.
It was a boy no more older of us,
With stitched red star,
Holding proudly something in his tiny palms.
A new ball?
I stepped forward.
Strike.
That was a subgun.

It was clear and unclear in one breath,
The smoke of usurpation spread over country for decades.
We, children, did not understand,
Somebody just stole our games,
And, for a while, a smile in mother’s face.

Epilogue

I was too tiny in the age of eight,
To protest against such a way.
But most of us survived,
Thanks to those braves,
Who fought for us,
Fearless, under lightnings of Red Star.

© Alena Orsulova, January 2010