A New Moon's Senses

I don’t remember the day my childhood fell.

Yet I remember the smell of my mother’s varenyky, a smell that always made me feel whole.

A smell that slowly became obstructed by another—the smell of smoke,

A scent carried by the howls of sirens and by the echoes of explosions.

My mother rushed me from our apartment, and while stepping outside, my heart broke.

A heavy sweetness clung to the air.

It emanated from our neighbors' still bodies, making my mother and me feel faint—

But there was no time to grieve. Gunshots echoed through the apartment floor.

We rushed down endless stairs, bursting through the exit door.

And sprinted across back roads, as the streets turned into a war zone.

An unholy chaos rupturing through the streets where I once played hide and seek.

What became of my friends? Were they able to leave like we did—in a single breath?

But those thoughts cannot keep me alive. Only running can.

Yet running makes my feet feel heavier. My breath struggles to keep up.

Would giving up be so wrong?

My life was my childhood—now it’s gone, boxed away for safekeeping.

What becomes of me now? 

Will I end up like the bodies on the street that stink of gunpowder?

Will I end up like the men who beg to hear a whisper of a savior of higher power?

Will I end up like the paramedics who only see death and shattered dreams?

Will I end up like the stray dogs that can only taste the remaining steam?

Will I end up like the trees that feel nothing but ash settle on their leaves?

Whatever becomes of me, I only hope for quiet soon—

Let this chaos close its eyes. Let me rest like a new moon.

Small, silent, gathering light.

Swallowed by the night, yet destined to shine again.

What Becomes of Them Now? A Brief Synopsis

This poem, “A New Moon’s Senses,” is a reflection of what children in Ukraine have endured and continue to endure through years of war. The poem moves through the five senses—smell, hearing, sight, taste, and touch to illustrate how conflict reshapes even the most ordinary experiences and the most innocent of lives. The poem explores the quiet grief of a childhood interrupted, friendships scattered, and the haunting question: “What becomes of me now?” Through the symbol of the new moon, the poem expresses both exhaustion and hope—the longing for peace, and the belief that even in darkness, light is still gathering. But even if a new moon gathers light, when will these children be allowed to shine again?

This poem is only words—but the lives it reflects are real. While organizations across the world strive to support displaced Ukrainian children, true change begins with awareness, empathy, and sustained commitment. A new moon does not shine all at once; it gathers light slowly. In the same way, hope is built through small, consistent acts of humanity. The question is no longer whether light will return—but whether we are willing to help bring it closer.