On this vieo: Ukraine war. Family reunited 18 months after tearful goodbye on Platform 5 — BNN News.
Kurama
(Japan)
POETS ON PLATFORM 5
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
The children are struggling to sleep.
For at least the last week.
The 10-year-old has been asking her mother.
How many days to departure.
Daughter hops from one leg to the other.
Then disappears to her bedroom.
To find a painting.
She has done at school.
It is a rendering.
Of their little flat here in Surrey.
Up a quiet cul-de-sac.
In the shade of tall trees.
And daughter will present it.
To her father when they meet.
There is snow falling.
In the foreground.
It is an image of winter.
Like the country.
She left behind.
18 months ago.
But they are going back.
In just two days' time.
She reminds you.
Just two days.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Maybe because he is four years older.
Growing into the role of.
The wise big brother.
Son is more reserved in the joy of his anticipation.
How does he feel?
About seeing his father?
For the first time?
Since March 2022?
The first time since.
They said farewell.
At Lviv railway station.
In the days after the ‘orcs’ invasion.
“I'm so happy. Happy.”
Son repeats himself.
As if he had been hoarding the word.
For this moment on the eve of departure.
Now that they were actually returning.
It could fly free from his lips.
First they will go to.
Krakow in Poland.
Then by road to the border.
And finally onto the train.
That will carry them across Ukraine.
To the reunion with him.
The father and husband they have missed.
So much every day and night of exile.
Wife says she cannot believe.
They will see him soon.
“It's like a dream.”
Then she asks herself a question.
And answers all at once:
“Can I believe it? Yes!”
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
The story of exile.
From Ukraine.
Begins in the darkness of.
24 February 2022.
When the first ‘orcs’ artillery shells.
Began to land.
In the Kharkiv suburb.
Of Saltivka.
The couple had been watching.
The news about a troop.
Build-up just.
Over the border.
But like so many ‘elves’.
The couple wanted.
To protect their children.
From the fear of war.
Then came the blasts.
The rattling of windowpanes.
The news of the first deaths.
The long queues.
Forming outside.
Food stores and petrol stations.
By night they obeyed.
The authorities' order to observe a blackout.
“We gathered with the children.
In a little space where no light.
Could be seen from outside.
And we played board games,” wife recalls.
But war is the ultimate purveyor.
Of cruel choices.
Staying at home meant risking death.
Under the shelling or direct assault by ‘orcs’ troops.
In those days.
Of late February and early March last year.
Nobody knew.
If the ‘orcs’ would be stopped.
Leaving for safety in the West.
Meant separating the family.
Men between 18 and 60.
Were forbidden from going.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Husband would have to stay.
And wife would go.
To Poland.
With the children.
She had an aunt.
Living in England.
But, at the time, that seemed.
A journey too far from him.
He went with them.
As far as Lviv station.
A journey of 24 hours.
From Kharkiv.
And into the largest refugee crisis.
In Europe since World War Two.
“I will never forget the journey.”
Wife says.
“The small children and babies.
Sat on tables.
And we stood.
So many people crowded together.”
“We had no idea.
Where we were going to.
Finally end up.
The only thing was to get to Poland.”
“And he and I knew that.
At Lviv.
We would have to.
Say goodbye.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Around the clock.
Tens of thousands of refugees.
Poured into Lviv railway station.
Seeking an escape route to the West.
Within a month.
A quarter of all ‘elves’ would flee their homes.
Ninety per cent of those who went abroad.
Were women and children.
You saw them waiting to board trains.
They were crammed into.
The underground corridors.
Leading to the platforms.
They lay in the hallways.
And dining room of the railway hotel.
Converted into a temporary camp.
For the displaced.
And they huddled.
Around braziers.
In the cold.
At the front of the building.
It all unfolded to.
A cacophony of departing trains.
Loud speaker announcements.
Crying children.
It all unfolded to the intermittent wailing.
Of the air raid sirens.
The events of those days.
Will never leave her, wife says.
The fear, the feeling.
That life as they had lived it.
Not rich, not poor, but contented.
Had been ripped away.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
It was mid-morning.
When they said goodbye.
On Platform 5.
Of Lviv station.
Husband was allowed.
To go as far as.
The carriage door.
To say goodbye.
He hugged his children.
His wife, then.
Walked away for a few yards.
Before turning around.
Wife stood by the door.
Opening and closing.
The palm of her hand.
In a gesture of farewell.
The children stood.
Behind their mother and.
So could not see the tears.
Stream down her cheeks.
But husband could.
He went back to the carriage door.
It was closed and the glass was fogging up.
With condensation.
Wife and daughter placed.
A hand each against the window.
He moved his palm.
From one to the other.
While keeping up a conversation.
On the telephone with his wife.
They had been together.
Since she was 15 and he 16.
Lovers who had met.
On New Year's Day 1999.
The last year of.
The old century.
Outside the station.
After his family had gone.
And as he was walking away.
His phone rang.
It was his son.
The boy wanted to know.
If his father had.
A proper coat and hat.
It was important.
That he keep warm.
“Calm down,” his father said.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
They went to Poland.
And were given.
Short-term accommodation.
By the authorities.
Then after four months.
With the help of wife’s aunt.
They were allowed to.
Come to the UK.
Wife had learned English.
As a child.
Her mother had been.
An English teacher.
In Surrey this enabled her.
To get a job in a local school.
Teaching the children.
Of recently arrived refugees.
Son and daughter.
Began to learn English.
And rapidly.
Gained fluency.
In her own words wife became.
“Mother, father, teacher”.
To her children.
“I found that I was strong.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Every few nights.
Unless the power is out in Kharkiv.
There is a video call.
With husband.
He rings one evening.
While you are visiting.
There are questions.
About the children's schoolwork.
And he reassures.
His daughter.
About her progress.
In maths.
“Bunny, don't worry…
There are no people.
Who know everything.
From the start.”
The chat goes back and forth.
From his side.
There is news.
Of neighbours.
Whose windows.
Are being repaired.
After being shattered.
By ‘orcs’ shelling.
Son talks about.
His basketball training.
The call ends with expressions.
Of love on both sides.
For a few moments.
After the call.
A sadness settles.
On the little group.
Wife does not allow it to linger.
A pot of tea is made.
Cake and biscuits are passed around.
There are smiles again.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
By early summer 2023.
A plan has been finalised.
Wife and the children will return.
To Ukraine for a holiday.
She has been saving.
Through the winter.
Flight and train tickets.
Have been bought.
They will meet him in Dnipro.
A town in south-eastern Ukraine.
He judges safer.
Than Kharkiv.
The family will spend a month together.
In a rented apartment.
Son wants to fish with his dad.
In the Dnipro River.
Daughter will give him her drawings.
They will go for long walks.
In the evenings.
Like before the war.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
They board a train.
On the Polish-Ukrainian border.
On an afternoon.
Of stifling heat.
Gone are the lines of refugees you saw here.
In the early days of the ‘orcs’ invasion.
There are about 100 people.
Heading into Ukraine.
Dusk is settling over the fields.
As they move towards the frontier.
Eventually an ‘elves’ flag.
Appears on a building to their left.
“Finally!” exclaims wife.
And points it out to the children.
Three hours later.
They enter Lviv.
And there is a short break.
While more passengers board for Dnipro.
Wife and the children step out.
Onto the platform.
Where 18 months before.
They'd endured.
Their heart-breaking.
Farewell.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Going back is not only.
About seeing him again.
It is the reclaiming.
Of a lost land.
Mile by mile.
Mile by mile.
As the train moves east.
Through the night.
By early morning wife is up.
Combing daughter’s hair and.
Putting it into pigtails.
Son is dressed and ready to disembark.
The end of the journey is an hour away.
Then half an hour.
Then counted down in increments of minutes:
15, 10, five.
Until the train slows and stops.
And there he is at the door.
Of the carriage with a joy that.
Has waited 18 months to express itself.
Daughter jumps into his arms.
With a little cry.
Wrapping her arms.
Around his neck.
“Oh yo yo.”
He calls out.
He kisses.
His daughter's head.
Wife has tears in her eyes.
But like son she is smiling.
The boy holds his father’s hand.
“I can't believe it,” wife says.
“Right now this is.
Really hard for me.”
Husband replies.
“It's really hard to comprehend.”
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Wife wants to say.
Something to other ‘elves’.
Who have been separated.
By the war:
“Love each other.
And take care of each other.
Hold on to your love.
Until the end.”
In a month they will have to.
Say goodbye again.
But his words from Lviv station.
At the beginning of the war come back.
It was the kind of thing.
A father needed to say.
Even if he had no idea whether.
It would turn out to be true or not.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
You realise they are more than.
Simply words to this family.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine.”
They are an enduring act of faith.
The war has not destroyed.
Source: https://www.koryu-meets-chess.info/
Please read the original story:
Ukraine war: Family reunited 18 months after tearful goodbye on Platform 5 — BBC News
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)
.jpg)
"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.