The price of my freedom

My freedom is bitter, like Mugwort

That covers Carpathian mountains.

The mountains, that shelter my brother

From bombings and bullets

My freedom is painful, like loss

Of a friend.

She sent me her picture and said

To remember her smiling

My freedom is anxious, like the still of the night

Right before sirens cut it.

The stomp of one million feet,

Running to shelter, trampling silence

My freedom is hopeful-

A drawing: the Sun on the wall in a bunker.

A mother breastfeeding her newborn

In hopes for tomorrow.

My freedom is wide-eyed, like parentless children

Who run to the bus that can take them to shelter

One’s hiding a rock in his pocket-

Remainder, reminder of home that he had

My freedom is fierce, like a Molotov cocktail

It burns me and blisters with hunger for action

My women have taken up arms

My men are reporting success from the field

My freedom is safe, like a dream of a madman:

My old home has been ravaged,

My new home is safe.

Where do I belong anymore?

My freedom was given to me like a gift.

Before torn, bleeding flesh of my country

Could clot like a wound

and consume me within