Friends, I want to ask you a question. Simple but scary. Do you know what the children of war are? Not from history books, not from movies, not from grandmothers. here and now in our time. in our country Children of war are boys and girls. with specific names in specific eyes. not childhood Where there is only fear, fatigue and an overly mature understanding of what is happening around. Once, in the terrible forties, our grandmothers experienced this. Hunger, cold, bomb, loss of loved ones. They were children, but the war stole their childhood. They learned to survive, not to play. They knew what death was long before they knew what love was. We thought it was a thing of the past. It won't happen again. Our children will grow up in a world where the sky does not tear, and the word "war" is only in books. But it happened again. I'm at the limit. I see these children. I see Shebekino. A city that lives under fire A city where children don't play in the sandbox, but know how to fall when they hear a whistle. Where they don't learn songs about mother, but recommend orders that should be transmitted to the radio. They are not afraid of the dark, because the dark is not the worst. The worst thing is the light, which can be coming. I hear their voices. on the radio. Baby sounds good, ringing, scared. They reproduce groups." They do the work that adults should do. Because there are not enough adults. Because adults are at the forefront. The children are here. behind, which became the front line. They can't just sit and wait. They want to help. They want to save. They want someone to hear their thin voice and come down the street, they fly in a minute. Listen to these words. Listen to an eight-, ten-, 12-year-old yelling on the radio. Then you will understand what war is. Not according to reports. Not in the news. Not in nice words about negotiations. Baby sounds.