Tag: Halyna Bezukh

At a High Cost

The morning begins with a final farewell to a soldier in our yard. He died in the war. A message about this appeared in the neighbor chat yesterday, indicating the building number and the entrance. High-rise buildings, just like low-rise ones, can’t avoid loss in wartime. There are more than 800 apartments in our building. Is there at least one unaffected by the war?

Alive. Love You

He was so eager to join the army. Finally, he got conscripted. We couldn’t get in touch with him for several days, I already began bracing ourselves to say goodbye to him. And then in the evening Valerik sent me a message: ‘Alive. Love you’.

Stencil of the 20th Century

If someone had told me that I would live through such a situation, I would not have believed: during the war in the city, sirens keep going off, there is no electricity and no heat supply, but, despite everything, people dress up, get on the subway, take cars or trolleybuses and go to the theater for a literary night.

Habit 2022: Surviving

Residents of Ukrainian cities, who, for almost a year now, have been living in the conditions of great war, constant shelling and daily disasters, do not wake up to an alarm clock. They are awakened by an app that loudly imitates a siren and warns: “Air raid alarm! Immediately follow to the nearest shelter!”

What stays with you

What stays with you

War separates you from what’s always been with you, what’s always been you. It leaves you alone with some scant remains of you. Because you are not you without the color of your walls.



This is our land. The land into which you grow roots — knee-deep, waist-deep, shoulder-deep. The land where you stand your ground and which you will never leave.

Fugue of Life

“I don’t really like it when someone recites my poems,” says one of the poets invited to the talk. “But when I wrote a poem about the war and saw a girl reciting it and loading her machine gun, it was rather impressive.”
The poem kept repeating: “Speak to me, speak to me…”

Tow Truck to Peaceful Life

Mykola looks at me more attentively, with some misunderstanding in his eyes. I’m sitting next to him with two kids, smiling.
“You mean you are coming here to visit someone or for temporary residence?” — he seems to be unable to believe that anyone can live in the capital of Ukraine with children now.