(A reaction to 709-8)

There is no life in her gaze.
It passed, like a wave.
In the soul emptiness and sufferings sped up.
Now loneliness too. For what?

For this: that she wanted, out of poverty,
When a moment was running by,
To give herself captive to unworthiness,
So she could then light a hookah,

To dress up playfully in trinkets,
For it is sweet to live in the mirror.
But fate burns like nettle,
And in the throat it chokes, it hurts.

The GIRL has thought today,
Does she even need this gold?
She could have lived in the mountains of Frankivshchyna —
Barefoot, yet married.

Hryshchuk Yu.L.
21.12.2025
(And a little of my co-authorship)