Where sunflowers weep

Sunflowers taller than me, spun gold in the breeze,
laughed with the bees as I chased butterflies with ease.
My town, a melody, church bells chimed a happy rhyme.
Ukraine, a kaleidoscope, bursting with laughter and sunshine.

Then came the grumble, a dark cloud, a shadow grew long,
loud booming whispers, a chilling, unfamiliar song.
Dad’s tight hug, a tear escaped, glistening, bright.
“We’re going underground,” he whispered, holding me tight.

Damp, cold shelter, a flickering candle’s soft glow,
stories of heroes whispered, courage whispered low.
Crayon pictures on the wall, dreams held in each line,
a ballerina dancing, beneath a sky that’s truly mine.

Trains packed with faces, a blur of goodbyes in the night,
leaving my sunflower fields, bathed in a fading gold light.
Strange lands, strange voices, a world painted gray.
Where are the sunflowers, Dad? Where did the laughter go astray?

Giant screens flicker, a man speaks with a cold, steady stare,
says he brings freedom, but leaves nothing but a hollow despair.
Why is it so quiet there, beyond the border’s sharp line?
Don’t they hear the cries of children, beneath the bombs that whine?

Sunsets bleed crimson, a reflection in tear-filled eyes,
will the sunflowers ever return? Will the blue skies ever rise?
I clutch my worn teddy, a silent, unanswered plea,
a small heart burdened by war, yearning for a world that used to be.