Elena Mihalachi Poet Ode

The Parents

I watch her even now-running,
Toward unknown paths, forever in a hurry,
With tears streaming down the eyes,
Always pretending to be tireless.

So was the mother and so were the children,
Torn from the luminaries of the soul,
My mother- the Word in my house,
And dad- the pillar that lifts us up to the clouds.

 My parents, protective same as the saints,
 Guides through the absurd darkness,
 Through which even the grandfathers fought,
 With faith in my soul and in my heart- words.

 Despite everything, their love prevailed,
 Even through the overwhelming gloominess,
 Same as the saints shining,
 Ahead our parents, and we behind them.

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