Why I Am Ukrainian Too Poem by Emanuel Pope

I'm not an island,

every brother of suffering humanity

is my brother.

I'm not an island!

and I don't have to be near the bleeding sea

to shout.

My blood must not enter under the door,

to feel and say what I can only shout:

I'm not an island!

and I don't just want my peace,

I don't love her,

nor the portion of food,

I ended up not liking the postman's face anymore,

bringing me news that doesn't interest me,

the electricity and the heat of the home

they have become

strangers to me from now on.



I look at the clouds and clouds are everywhere.



Leave me things! leave me!

I'm not an island!

I am a living man! I'm air!

my brothers are dying under bombs!

Death is alive, if it is no other way!



Glory to Ukraine!



Her fight is mine too!

Here people behave normally,

buy things,

I buy too, most drink

but I drink hard,

the war comes with the drink

in my veins.



I'm not an island!

I'm a living man,

I'm the air of this spring.

I have all the flowers in the garden,

but all these flowers are no longer my flowers,

when my brothers were swallowed by bombs.



My parents tell me I'm not the richest man in the world,

and I must keep my house quiet,
but my peace is now my greatest pain,

when the brothers' faces are covered in bombs.



Where is the beloved Peace? !

I do not know!

Where I am?

I don't even know that anymore.

But who am I
and what I do

is all that matters!