It Happened in the Twentieth Century

Honor your father and your mother, as the Lord your God commanded you, that your days may be long, and that it may go well with you in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. Deut. 5:16

It happened in the twentieth century: At the station on a summer's evening free To meet her daughter from the city came, A busy mother, worn with everyday's claim. And though she was exhausted through and through— For her it mattered not what she went through, That hard she labored on the collective's land, So hard her body could no longer stand The aches and pains that others always feel, Because from dawn to dusk in fields so real She earned her daily labor's worth with care, Besides, her garden plot was also there. And all that on it grew in nature's way Was carried to the city every day, Sold in the market for a modest price And all the earnings sent as a sacrifice To the capital, to her beloved daughter dear, While she herself slept on a hard frontier. The mother was so very, very glad, For her dear daughter, beautiful, not sad, Studied there in the institute with pride. For mother were unforgettable, wide, Those joyful hours ever new, When on a summer's day they two Could sit together in a garden place And talk of things, face to face. She taught her daughter how to live aright, To keep true friendships in her sight, To go to church with faithful heart, And God to love in every part. But suddenly poor Hannah wept with grief, For she recalled without relief Young Ivan, whom she'd sent away, And later welcomed every day At seven o'clock when he came back— Perhaps she would have met him on that track Until now, but a message came one fall That said he'd died in Berlin's wall. She remembered all the days gone past And moments of their vigil vast. The train arrived then at the station gate, And Galya came out—O, such fate! She wished to run to her with speed, But stopped, for with her came indeed A young man from the carriage down, Who seemed to place between them down Some invisible wall, some unseen bar. He seemed quite decent from afar— Handsome in appearance, yes quite fine, But in his talk, how coarse, how base, how inine, A chill ran down the mother's back to spine, So she stepped back behind the line. Though she was puzzled at her daughter's choice, From afar she smiled, gave a silent voice. The young man noticed and said to Galya then: "Have we not seen anything like this again? What woman is this—a monster, what a sight, Standing there by the fence, such a fright? She stands there fidgeting about, Toothless, like a clown without doubt!" "I don't know," Galya answered soft and low, But a light wind began to blow And brought those words to where the mother stood, And all spun round as it could. But she approached and said with pain: "I want that you should know, make plain: I had a daughter, small and dear, With face so beautiful and clear, She slept in her small crib at night, While I cared for soldiers in their plight, For near the front they came to stay And the enemy drew ever closer day by day. War—and there is no remedy. Where could one turn to flee? The shells burst everywhere around, And suddenly into our home they wound. The house caught fire, began to burn. I ran outside—O, how I'd yearn And to the house, like a bullet flew, As if my body was not true. All around burned and burst apart, While my own heart was torn apart. Already doors and windows burned, My legs grew weak as I turned. The roof fell down in flames so bright, And in the house—my only light: My most beloved and precious one, Small as a blade of grass, my son, From pain and fear was crying out And called for mother all about. Without a moment's lost delay, I reached the child without delay, Pressed her face to my breast tight: "Save her!" I prayed with all my might. Poor little one, she trembled sore, While fire consumed me to my core. When I got up from by the bed, A tub before my footsteps spread. I stumbled, fell against the pipes, And all my front teeth lost their gripes. Barely crawled I to the hall, Already falling were the walls. I started losing consciousness, And cried out in my distress. Fire was all around, everywhere, And then the people pulled us there… My face and hair were burned away, And for three years no words to say. My name is still upon me: I am Anna, And I am such a wretched, broken woman. Today I must make something clear— That I am Galya's mother here. Remember this old story well, Though it seems like long ago to tell, For now there are those just the same Who feel ashamed of their mother's name. And mother's name is—Ukraine, you see, And she stands like a ruin, torn and free, Like a grave that's dug into the ground And covered with burnt branches all around. And those who swore their faithful oath, Have long since turned away in wroth. Like linden trees, they strip her bare And send it all elsewhere, elsewhere. O God Almighty, One and True, Turn Your gaze to Ukraine through and through. Send her children to repent, That all together may be spent In praising God eternal ever, In whom is life and strength to sever All that is unclean and untrue. Let love be boundless through and through— For father, mother, and for child, For every human in the world so wild.