Refugee Blues About Blue Butterfly

by Viktoriia Filonchuk

 

You and me, we live in blues playing, giving tea to a teddy bear,

Building houses and palaces on the carpet.

Every time you hear guitar you say “Daddy.”

I tell “he is far away” and become silent.

At this moment you show the sound of train, you are on my hands and we go to the next horizon.

You find your favourite blue colour in everything,

You never give anyone your blue pencil,

And you always choose that blue butterfly among all the creatures that live in your books.

I look at this living being and see our life; it is so fragile.

I had a dream: when we finish this colouring book we return home.

But today I bought two books more.

You like cats and horses and dragons in them.

“Scratch-scratch,” my pencil is moving. It scratches my heart every day.

Missiles attack our land again. I can’t tell you all I feel at that moment.

So let’s colour the dress of the princess pink. And unicorn’s hair will be blue.

There are balloons and swings on the pages of your books.

And there is no death.

Instead of “dot” you say “god,”

And I ask myself if the refugees have their own God.

Their own Refugee God, separate from their persecutors.

The murderers and their victims should not pray to the same God.

I prepare to talk with you about it someday,

That is why dragons in my tales protect home and roses, not the caves filled with diamonds and gold.

Blue butterfly and his friends also have their own God,

He is merry, light and free.

He is like a human without past, like a tree without roots,

Like a spark in a darkness.

I will draw a blue butterfly in your album,

It is fragile, beautiful and a little bit crazy.

You should never give someone your blue pencil:

It is our protection, our life is in it.

The wheels of the baby car are moving.

You hold a camomile in your hands in a middle of a January.

You hold my life, my love.