A poem from famous Chechen poet Apti Bisultanov about childhood and war.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
..<\/span><\/p>\n \n \u2026<\/span><\/p>\n .<\/span><\/p>\n Childhoods<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n P.S. Apti\u00a0 Bisultanov<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A poem from famous Chechen poet Apti Bisultanov about childhood and war.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":722,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-721","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poems"],"views":2713,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/721","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=721"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/721\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":723,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/721\/revisions\/723"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/722"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=721"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=721"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.waynakh.com\/eng\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=721"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\nMy grandmother used to say
\nif you see your childhood three times
\nyou will live a long life
\nMy father saw his childhood twice
\nThe first time when he went to war
\nthrough the carriage window
\nhe saw it there on the platform
\nIt had come from his mountain village
\nall the way to say goodbye
\nThe second time he saw it
\nwas when soldiers
\nmarched him off to exile
\nHe turned and saw it
\non the edge of the village
\ntoo scared to come with him another step.
\nLater it hid
\nat night
\nin an old defence tower with the wild doves
\nBut NKVD soldiers blew up the tower
\nand it died
\nThe third time
\nreturning from exile
\nwhen they weren\u2019t allowed home to the mountains
\nmy father left his family on the plains
\nand went in search of his birthplace
\nOn his way back
\nhe turned
\nbut he could not see his childhood
\nThen he understood
\nthat one doesn\u2019t always have
\nto want to live so much
\nI was small and didn\u2019t take his point
\nBut now I think I understand
\nhis all too early death
\n<\/span><\/p>\n
\nI only saw my childhood once
\nWhen I went to war
\nI turned around
\nand saw it at the gate
\ntoo scared to come with me another step
\nBombs tore up the streets
\nThen
\nwith timid terrified children
\nit went to hide in a cellar
\nBut a valiant pilot dropped a bomb on the house
\nMy son never saw his childhood
\nHe went to war as a child.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n