I wake up, sigh, and head off to war. . .

I wake up, sigh, and head off to war. . .

I wake up, sigh, and head off to war,
For the lilacs have already faded.
I scrub, I slice the skin off my palm
And feed death from my hand.
But death is not hungry, a fledgling
— a cuckoo chick — begs my pardon.
Don’t go, she pleads,
There’s nothing there.
I too have a soul, she says.
The lilacs have faded,
The orchards will bloom,
The war will come to an end.

       — Marianna Kiyanovska, poeta ucraniano

(Translated from the Ukrainian by Oksana Maksymchuk,
Max Rosochinsky, and Kevin Vaughn)