***
dance my little bird, right in the middle of town.
it’s exactly for this that they burned it down.
your power is your beauty, your fury is your force –
dance my little bird, show no fear, no remorse.
in the midst of the ruins, among these ashes
may your dance be fiery, proud and gracious.
dance for the injured and dead who lived here before,
for those who lost their legs, who won’t dance anymore,
for the children, women and men who once dwelled and died here.
dance my little bird, you’ve earned it, my dear.
cursed be our foes who set our towns alight –
it’s the dance of their death and it’s the dance of your life.
so let new grass grow under your feet.
and where you point your hand let there be fields of wheat.
let there be blue skies above and new houses beneath
and plenty of air, plenty of air to breathe.
someone must dance here, there would be no point otherwise.
our enemies are many but in the end each of them dies.
so dance with no regrets, dance, and flourish, and thrive
for it’s the dance of their death,
for it’s the dance of your life.
Translated by Matvii Smirnov from: Tetiana Vlasova, ‘Війна, любов, надія: сучасна українська поезія’ (War, love, hope: contemporary Ukrainian poetry), Elle (2023).
