Sofiia enjoying her time at a lavender field in Nova Odesa, Ukraine. (Courtesy of Sofiia Neznaiushcha)
Hello, my name is Linda. I’m a high school student, and for the past few months, I’ve been teaching English to a student who lives in Ukraine. I started teaching her because I wanted to help her practice and grow her confidence in using English.
At first, we focused on vocabulary, grammar, and conversation, but recently, we have been reading and analyzing poetry. Seeing her enthusiasm, I encouraged her to write a poem of her own. I thought it would be a good way for her to express her emotions and also learn how to use language more creatively.
According to Statista, in May of 2025, nearly 50,000 Ukrainians have been injured or killed since February of 2022. As stated by Russia Matters in July of 2025, “as of July 15, 2025, Russian forces occupied a total 114,016 square kilometers of Ukrainian land (44,022 square miles), which constituted 18.9% of Ukrainian territory.”
These numbers remind us of the real human impact behind the headlines — the lives affected, the communities disrupted, and the ongoing struggle faced by millions. It’s easy to lose sight of the individuals behind such statistics, which is why I want to share a more personal perspective.
Below is Sofiia’s message for everyone reading:
“Hello, my name is Sofiia Neznaiushcha. I’m 15 years old and I live in Nova Odesa, Ukraine. I love to write poems, do yoga, and embroider. I want to share a poem I wrote about the beauty of my native Ukrainian south, where I was born and raised. By showing my poem, I hope to raise awareness of the beauty of my home, which is now being destroyed, with most of it under occupation. I want everyone to know that you should appreciate every moment and everything around you.”
Now, I would like to share her poem, “My Native South.”
My first step was on Ukraine’s southern ground,
Where the Black Sea hugs tightly all around.
The warm sun kisses my cheeks every day,
And bright sunflowers keep sorrow away.
The wind smells sweet with herbs in the air,
It plays with my hair without a care…
In summer gardens, nightingales sing,
And crickets lull to sleep everything.
My native south’s not only the sea,
Beaches, ripe fruit and sand are so free.
Skadovsk, Mykolaiv, Odesa, Kherson, Zatoka’s embrace,
Towns and resorts by the deep blue space.
My native south’s fields are so wide,
Where feather grass calls with a free horse’s stride.
Wheat fields stretch like the golden sea,
Where I gaze at the stars, calm and free.
My native south’s the Bug’s pure flow,
Southern traditions that quietly grow.
My beloved south’s the fortress of land…
Kherson, Mykolaiv, Odesa will stand!
