You took us, your children, under your hands, mama, beneath the steps of our home's first floor, to protect us from the bombs.
You never slept and in the hot summer nights your only mission was our safety.
You are my president mama, you and all those women, who protected and still defend their children against pregnant-with-hatred soldiers of death … all around the world…
Under the bombs, you showed no fear. The drastic changes in our lives, you took quiet and peaceful with your inner love and belief and tried to dispel, the terror of death from filled-with-fear eyes of your children.
You made a new reform of solidarity and elections of bravery in our home.
You drove us to the polished satisfaction of holding each other's hands through the rough times…
In the deepest corners of my memory, deep in my heart, deep in my thoughts, of blackouts and no candlelight, I could see your blond hair, brown eyes and comforting face.