(poem)

For the one whom the world caught and did not catch, for Hryhoriy Skovoroda

Why is it so hard to be just me,
To fight myself endlessly?
An anxious thought lives deep inside —
It’s never full, though satisfied.

Feed it a crumb of familiar doubt,
It drags you in — there’s no way out.
To ride that train is not your say,
Your mind will take you anyway.

You scream, you fight, you lose control,
Until it swallows up your soul.
And once your voice begins to fade,
The battle’s lost, your strength betrayed.

You could let go, escape the chase —
But who will look back from your face?
Can you survive the next collapse,
Or fall again through tightening traps?

You think you’re free — the grip is thin,
Then slip once more and sink within.
I’m a prisoner of obsessive thoughts,
It’s not just one — it’s all I’ve got.