My sky was infused with wisps of cotton,

It was a brilliant blue ,like the one flowing in my baby's eyes;

The colour ,fresh, like a Spring that lasts forever

The hues of my sky have changed;

In a terribly transient Kyiv

My city,my country , my sky

has metamorphosed

Alas! the butterfly would soon die

Its wings caught in a flame,

stripped of freedom

My sky was golden,

Glittering like my wedding band

As bright as his eyes glistening with tears,

The tears like pearls, falling on his bloodsoaked shirt

My sky turned ash grey,

Cold, distant ,alien

With smokes,fumes and sirens

A quiet cacophony resounded in the streets,

The streets deserted like corpses in the hospital nearby

Now it's crimson ,

Mutilated by missiles

Amputated with words,

Smeared with hatred ,with anger

Every morning serves a new agenda for breakfast

I eat it up, with a tinge of pride that's Ukrainian

The evenings bring promises, negotiations, a host of them

And yet, the skyline remains crimson

Sometimes, my sky sings our anthem

They can hear it too,

They are afraid too,

Just like my crying baby

But they are chained by diktats

Will they ever break free?

My baby has stopped crying

There's tranquility, but no peace

My sky is now apocalyptic

This sky is mine.