To the Sparkle in my Eyes by Yelyzaveta Melnyk

I see my reflection in a window of the subway train

while we’re going through the dark tunnel.

I don’t recognize my hometown anymore.

It’s not that my city lost its beauty.

Emotions are different.

I don’t see the sparkle in my eyes anymore.

And I don’t remember the day, the moment when it somehow disappeared.

Is that what growing up means?

Maybe it blew up with the fire of the first downed missile I’ve seen?

Maybe the sounds of explosions disturbed its fragility?

Or maybe it vanished away with the tear streams of sorrow?

Or stuck with a tape on my windows?

I was looking for this sparkle in a bunch of other countries.

Didn’t make any difference.

It’s not that I don’t recognize my hometown anymore.

I don’t recognize myself.

Coming out of the tunnel I see the rosy sunset

over my beautiful city,

and how the river waves shine,

just like couple of years ago

in a whole different reality.

Now I get it.

That’s where I left you.