I am from

I am from the delicate fragrance of the lilac bushes
          near the blue wooden house in the ancient village.
I am from fields of wheat, birches under summer rain
          and crispy apples in Grandpa’s garden.
I am from a little candle in front of the dark golden icon.
I am from a fast spindle in my grandmother’s loving hands,
          her kind-hearted old songs and “to be patient” philosophy.

I am from Cinderella stories and dusty libraries’ archives.
I am from old paintings, the squeaky school stage
          and Bach’s etudes on the accordion.
I am from a crackling campfire and a friend’s shoulder on a steep path.
I am from early-dew on a daisy and the promise not to forget.

I am from the lost in lies generation.
I am from red flags and parades of missiles.
I am from a drunken happy crowd on the Red Square.
I am from cynical jokes of the people who don’t have anything to lose.

I am from dirty snow on gray streets.
I am from children who grow up faster than they are supposed to.
I am from adults who don’t smile at a stranger’s face.
I am from their generous hearts and great aspiration to world peace.

I am from rebuilt churches and rewritten history pages.
I am from the wind of freedom and never-ending discussions.
I am from my mother’s happy tears
          and the wide smile on my daughter’s face.
I am from beliefs, disappointments and hope
          for the brighter future of the whole country called Russia.

                (1998)