Kurama
(Japan)
A POET IN THE FIELD OF MARS
You heard the screams.
From far away.
They came floating.
Across the rows of the dead.
Across the rows of the dead.
Over other graves.
Still waiting.
To be filled.
You heard the screams.
From far away.
They came floating.
Over the rows of flags.
Over the rows of flags.
To commemorate the fallen.
That flapped.
In the icy wind.
The military cemetery.
Of the Field of Mars in Lviv.
Is usually a place of.
Whispered prayers and stifled sobs.
But on this winter morning.
The sound was a full-throated rage.
But on this winter morning.
The sound was a full-throated rage.
He was about 100 yards away.
A middle-aged man.
In military camouflage.
Walking between the lines of graves.
He stopped.
And raised his hands to the sky.
And shouted out:
“Death to the enemy.”
He walked on.
And after a few steps.
Began to scream again.
No words.
Just an agonised howl.
That gradually faded.
As he moved away.
No words.
Nearby, a mother and daughter.
Were settling flowers around.
The grave of a young man.
A son, a brother.
They had heard.
The commotion.
But continued with.
Their work as if.
Nearby, a mother and daughter.
Were settling flowers around.
The grave of a young man.
A son, a brother.
As if, two years and.
Thousands of deaths into the war.
It was all part of.
The normal order of things.
The military cemetery.
Of the Field of Mars in Lviv.
Is usually a place of.
Whispered prayers and stifled sobs.
But on this winter morning.
The sound was a full-throated rage.
But on this winter morning.
The sound was a full-throated rage.
Source: https://www.koryu-meets-chess.info/
Kurama
(Japan)
A POET FIGHTING FOR OWN LAND
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
She was a doctor.
At the height.
Of the refugee crisis.
She was directing a team.
Of doctors, nurses and volunteers.
Constantly on the move down.
The long, crowded corridors.
To wherever help was needed.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
Through all of this.
She was dealing with.
A family crisis:
She is of ‘orc’ origin.
And her siblings in Moscow.
Supported ‘the One’’s war.
She has lost all contact.
With her ‘orcs’ family.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
“These people are lost for me.
They will never say no.
And will remain silent.
Like slaves.”
She is teaching medicine.
At Lviv University.
Aware that her students.
Might be drafted to fight.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
Several staff from the university.
Have been killed.
Her own feelings towards ‘Mordor’.
Have hardened.
She describes the air raids on the city.
And how her children were woken.
By a door being blown off.
Its hinges by an explosion.
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
Now this doctor.
This mother of a 11-year-old son.
And two-year-old daughter.
Wants to fight.
The healer of bodies.
Would like to be a sniper.
“I love shooting from different weapons.
I would be a good sniper.”
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
When you ask how someone.
Whose mission it is to heal.
Felt about being prepared to kill.
She replies:
“It's my war… I will kill anyone.
So my children will be safe.
This is a matter of survival.
I am fighting for my land.”
Two years on.
The war has settled.
On Lviv station.
A stubborn season that will not move.
There is weariness.
And everywhere.
Stories of.
What's been lost.
Source: https://www.koryu-meets-chess.info/
Kurama
(Japan)
POETS CREATING
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
In a carriage from Lviv station.
Heading towards Kyiv.
You meet a short, stocky man.
With an engaging smile.
He is one-armed.
The consequence of a car accident.
Several years ago.
And so his military role is that of a chaplain.
But he is also.
A bringer of gifts.
Delivering presents and treats.
To children living in front-line areas.
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
Since before ‘orcs’ full-scale invasion.
He and his wife have fostered.
Troubled children.
Those from broken families.
And now those displaced by the war.
When the war began.
One of his former foster children.
Wanted to go back.
To his home village.
To care for his mother.
An alcoholic with whom.
He’d had a troubled relationship.
‘Trolls’ forces.
Under the command of.
Top ‘the One’ ally had taken over.
His home village.
“Although an alcoholic.
She was still his mother.
And he went and created.
A small militia in this village.”
“In order to stop the ‘trolls’.
Who began entering there.
And unfortunately.
They found out.”
“After some time.
They shot him.
And they threw him dead.
In a field.”
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
On this journey.
He is heading 816km.
South to Kryvyi Rih.
And from there another three hours.
By road with his friend.
To Kherson.
A city re-taken from the ‘orcs’.
In November 2022.
Together they will distribute.
Gifts in front-line villages.
They stop at a windswept bus stop.
In the countryside.
Where a group.
Of around 20 mothers.
And children.
Has gathered.
There is danger.
From ‘orcs’ shelling.
The war can come crashing down.
At any time.
Yet people cling to their homes.
If you leave.
When do you return?
Do you ever return?
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
One of the mothers.
Organises the meetings.
With the bringers of gifts.
She adamantly refuses to leave.
She adamantly refuses to leave.
Or to send her children away.
“Someone made a law.
That we must evacuate the children.”
“As our village is in red zone.
But when I ask them.
‘Are you going to be responsible?
For my children, if I do it?’”
“They say no.
I did not evacuate mine.
I am their mother.
And responsible for them.”
“When he and his friend.
The bringers of gifts come.
It's like a celebration.
For us and the kids.”
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
A girl of around 10 years of age.
Comes forward.
He hands her a parcel.
She starts to explain.
What happened.
When the ‘orcs’ attacked.
Her school.
“There were three air strikes at us.”
“We didn't know what to do.
I was scared.
The window was blown out.
In the room where my sister was.”
As she says the last words.
She begins to cry.
She turns into.
The embrace of her mother.
Who strokes her head.
“There bunny, there.
It will be OK.”
“It will be OK.”
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
He must leave.
There are other villages.
To reach before nightfall.
And much work still to do.
“You know, I have stopped trying.
To understand.
This war long ago.
It takes away the whole life.”
“And even takes away the purpose of it.
So it takes away.
The most important time.
That a child can experience.”
As the war lurches into its third year.
This gentle chaplain tries to create.
Some normality for children.
A place “where they can dream again.”
After so much suffering.
Trauma is everywhere.
And expresses itself.
In different ways.
But it has not erased.
The spirit of kindness.
That was so evident.
Two years ago.
Source: https://www.koryu-meets-chess.info/
Please read the original story:
War-weary Ukrainians endure as Russia's invasion drags on — BBC News
.jpg)
Read more:
"Aware of a poet?
A poet of Cossack broods over the land.
Not noting a bullet.
Not noting a bullet.
You see a poet of Cossack in Borodyanka."
(Kurama)
"Коли закінчиться війна,Я хочу тата обійняти,
Сказати сонячні слова
І повести його до хати,
Ти – наш Герой! Тепер щодня
Я буду дякувати Богу
За мирне небо, за життя,
Всім, хто здобув нам ПЕРЕМОГУ!"
Думки українських поетів про рідну країну, їхні відчуття до української землі і нашого народу — все це юні читачі зможуть знайти в представленій добірці віршів про Україну від Ганни Черінь, Юрка Шкрумеляка, Наталки Талиманчук, Іванни Савицької, Уляни Кравченко, Яни Яковенко, Василя Симоненка, Івана Франка, Володимира Сосюри, Катерини Перелісної, Богдана-Ігоря Антонича, Марійки Підгірянки, Миколи Чернявського, Володимира Сіренка, Іванни Блажкевич, Грицька Бойка, Миколи Вінграновського, Платона Воронька, Наталі Забіли, Анатолія Камінчука, Анатолія Качана, Володимира Коломійця, Тамари Коломієць, Ліни Костенко, Андрія Малишка, Андрія М’ястківського, Івана Неходи, Бориса Олійника, Дмитра Павличка, Максима Рильського, Вадима Скомаровського, Сосюра Володимир, Павла Тичини, Петра Осадчука, Варвари Гринько та інших відомих українських поетів.
Дуже корисними для вивчення іноземних мов є саме вірші, пісні, казки, римівки, а також ігри. Природнім шляхом діти розвивають слух, навчаються вимові, інтонації та наголосу; вивчають слова та мовні структури. Пісні та римівки чудово сприймаються дітьми, малята люблять усе ритмічне та музичне, вони засвоюють це легко та швидко, тому що дістають від цього задоволення.