That I grew up singing,
And my son recited the poem
I still know by heart.
But my position is the farthest from mean normality:
As far as the stars are from each other;
Several light-years would it take to reach the mean,
Crossing through the sea of unknown dark matter.
My children?
They are called refugee here,
Here grief is as near as a circle is to its center,
And crime is circumscribed about law and order.
Their schools were burnt down,
So was our home,
where I grew my little tomato plant,
That I used to water everyday.
You will take care of it now, you say?
Like you are taking care of my country?
Sorry, she doesn't exist anymore,
Like the bridges and the hundred-year-old tree,
Like my youngest daughter, my little Pori.
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