Yesterday, in St. Michael's Golden-Domed Cathedral, Kyiv said goodbye to two girls – sisters Lyubava and Vera Yakovlev. They were killed at half past three in the morning on May 15 at their home.
The bodies of the girls were pulled out from under the rubble by State Emergency Service employees.
A total of 24 people died that day.
All that was left of the nine-story section of the house on Nikolai Bazhan Avenue in which they all lived was a gray hole.
A gray pit instead of people.
A gray pit instead of their dreams, aspirations, aspirations, smiles.
The murder weapon is a ballistic missile.
The killer is Russia.
Insolent, unbelted, snarling Russia.
My homeland.
The majority of citizens of their homeland are still more concerned about the shutdown of some social networks than about the people killed in a neighboring country.
Than ruined houses.
Than blood gushing over the edge.
Than orphans.
Than heads, arms, legs torn off by explosions.
They don’t understand why Ukrainian drones are suddenly flying at them.
They do not understand that Ukraine has the right to do whatever it sees fit to protect itself.
And it is not for us, who were unable, unable, and unwilling to stop the war, to discuss this at all.
On our knees.
We need to beg for forgiveness.
We must repent until the end of time.
We are all in the blood of Ukrainian citizens.
Can't you really see this?
It doesn’t let me sleep, it rings the alarm bell, the ashes of Klaas, shame, pain, tears, flayed skin, the inability to live with this grave sin of murder, I am suffocating from these deaths, I am choking in someone else’s blood.
Lord, save Ukraine, change its fate and have mercy on me.
Source:
Victoria Ivleva / Facebook
The blog reflects solely the opinion of the author. The editors are not responsible for the content and accuracy of the materials in this section.
