It is not an Easter like any other in Bucha, the town northwest of Kiev that has become the symbol of the violence of the Russian invasion.
It can't be.
But if Easter is "a light of hope, if Christ has defeated death, Ukraine will also be able to rise again", says Father Andrei Golovin to the faithful during the celebration in the Orthodox Church of St. Andrew, trying to make them glimpse a glimpse of the future.
Right there, in the ground behind the church, a mass grave with dozens of corpses was found a few weeks ago.
Now that macabre burial has been emptied and leveled, but the loose earth reminds you of the enemy's fury at every glance.
"Pope Francis come here and see what happened with his own eyes", adds the pope, speaking with ANSA on the sidelines of the function.
"And if his arrival can help find peace, we await him."
The faithful arrive in dribs and drabs.
They enter the church under a gray sky and a threat of rain, they come out with the sun illuminating the roofs of Bucha, many blackened by the flames or destroyed by bombs.
Families, elderly people, a couple of territorial defense soldiers sing songs and prayers, light candles and offer baskets full of food to the priest's blessing, one by one, according to tradition: there are bread, colored eggs, Easter cakes, salamis, biscuits , someone stuck a bottle of vodka in it.
But it remains a half-way party, Elena and Natalia say: "Everything is destroyed, there is no work, there is no school for the children.
Nobody knows when life will start again. "Bucha's estimates, still provisional, speak of over 400 deaths." But there are many more - assures Gennadiy, who wears the uniform of a volunteer -.
We are clearing the area and gradually we find other corpses. "Aleksandr, on the other hand, lives in Kiev, he came to Bucha precisely for Easter:" This time it was more important to come and pray here, for the future of Ukraine. "The pain of those who do not he wants to speak transpires from the eyes of an old woman, protected by her wool hat, her head embedded in the bent shoulders.
Meanwhile, the streets outside the church have been cleared of corpses scattered on the asphalt and Russian armored vehicles, a tragic reminder of a month of unjustified violence.
The enemy's tanks, or what remains of them, have been taken to an embankment just outside the city, which has become a sort of landfill: dozens of them lie, devoured by flames, their crawlers uprooted and their weapons blunt.
Alongside were civilian cars, riddled with shots or crushed, some still with their clothes and personal effects in the back seat.
And in the Bucha cemetery there are countless graves just dug for the very recent burials.
Long lines of crosses over the still fresh earth, Ukrainian flags, yellow and blue flowers, loaves of bread and candy for the youngest dead.
There are photos, names, and two dates that contain too short a life.
They were born in 1990, in '97, in 2003. They were all killed in March 2022.
