Year of Darkness A snowflake pinches the cheek, the frost bites jokingly, the fog is sliding on the ice. As thunder tears apart a rocket supply, the heart in pain, strangulation of the throat, oh, that black fog covered the country. There are thousands, tens of thousands of them. Maybe hundreds of thousands of worldly souls that flew to heaven, from the sooty piles of smoke from the huts of towns and villages. God, why such a punishment? Cold drops of rain Descending from the roof the melting handfuls of snow. Moaning and humming echoes outside the window the wind plays with the lonely poplar, bends thin branches. In the darkness of the apartment confusion creeps how is the Bakhmut city my frontline friend?