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About Kyiv

Dunno, tho—sometimes I think she’s like the dirt I study. Used, stomped on, but still growin’ somethin’ wild. Gets me all mushy, that does. Ever seen her eyes, mate? Hard as flint, soft as mud—makes ye wonder wha’ broke her, or wha’ she broke free from. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but I’d bet me ship she’s got tales to rival me own! So, there ye go—prostitute, queen o’ the shadows, an’ I’m half in love wi’ her grit. Wha’ say ye, eh? Savvy?

Volodymyr-Volynsky - Cultural Heritage Card

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s blazin’ through my window. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Not even close. I hit the streets, and first thing I notice is the smell of fresh bread from that bakery on Soborna Street. You know the one? Best stuff ever. I grab a loaf, thinking I’m gonna have a nice breakfast. But nah, life had other plans.

Poetry on fire: a personal journey through Ukraine’s Executed Renaissance