海角大神

Letter to Pokrovsk, Ukrainian city of roses: Your beautiful spirit isn鈥檛 lost

聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 聽 February 2026

Dear Pokrovsk,

It is with deep sadness that I address these words to you, now that you lie in ruins, charred and bomb-blasted, and emptied of the many thousands of residents who until very recently gave you life.

Yet, they鈥檙e also words of appreciation, for what you revealed of yourself, and for what is lost but might rise again.

It is now nearly three years since this American reporter first walked your rose-bed-lined streets.

On that warm June evening in 2023, my objective had been to interview some of your residents about Russia鈥檚 war that had already cut you off from the capital of your region of Donetsk. I would spend the night, then move on to other towns along the war鈥檚 slowly shifting front lines.

I did not know then that this would be just the first of numerous visits to Pokrovsk, your being a rail and transportation hub of strategic importance to both Ukraine and the invading Russian forces. Or that, by the time this past fall that Russia鈥檚 scorched-earth warfare had turned you into an empty, ruined wasteland, I would realize that I had a special place in my heart for you, Pokrovsk.

On my most recent reporting trip to Ukraine, in December, visiting you was out of the question. Drone footage of ruined streets and videos of Russian soldiers raising their country鈥檚 tricolor flag over a bombed-out city hall made that clear enough.

Yet, that special place in my heart had been secured by the many wonderful residents who invited me into their homes, their gardens, their parks and emergency response stations, to share their stories as a terrible war approached.

Sign of resilience

Pokrovsk was a city of roses. The well-tended rose bushes flanking the concrete welcome sign at the city鈥檚 highway entrance was evidence of this, as were the rows of blooming bushes along the main avenue through town.

On that first visit, several couples enjoying the evening from benches in the park outside their Soviet-era high-rise apartment blocks were unanimous in their pride in the city鈥檚 roses. But one woman told me rather enigmatically that many of the flowers were a recent addition to Pokrovsk鈥檚 public spaces, and that therein lay a story I might investigate.

A little research revealed that, in 2022, the mayor had announced that 60,000 roses would be planted as a sign of the city鈥檚 resilience despite the war.

More recently, in the fall of 2023, as Russian troops pursued a costly (and ultimately failed) siege aimed at quickly capturing the city, some Ukrainian officials had faulted Pokrovsk鈥檚 obsession with its roses. City leaders would have been better off disregarding such frivolous pursuits, they opined, and focus instead on building up the city鈥檚 defensive infrastructure.

I didn鈥檛 agree with the criticism. As I have learned over the years of covering the war, while meeting hundreds of Ukrainians, people need something hopeful and inspiring to hold on to amid such adversity. For the people of Pokrovsk, that something was the roses.

The roses of war

The glimpses I had of this became certainty when I reported a story on your roses in June 2024. Your population was down from 60,000 to about 11,000, but the roses were in full bloom.

I visited the 84-acre Jubilee Park with its 1,300 rose bushes, where park director Konstantyn Derevinskyy spoke lovingly of the roses. With the dull thuds of war coming from the front line less than 20 miles away, Mr. Derevinskyy said he was stopped every day by residents expressing their appreciation for the sense of order and hope the roses gave them.

Then, down the main street through town, at the municipal grounds equipment sheds, manager Oleh Tkachenko echoed the mayor鈥檚 view that the city鈥檚 roses weren鈥檛 superfluous niceties, but instead played a critical role in reassuring residents and messaging to the world what Pokrovsk is made of.

鈥淲hen our residents see us tending the roses, it reassures them that we are going nowhere,鈥� he said. To the world, he added, it says 鈥淲e are Ukraine. Pokrovsk is a Ukrainian city, and we will be here tomorrow.鈥�

But it was an encounter with resident Halyna Fateieva that I now realize started this mysterious process of putting you, Pokrovsk, in my heart.

As my team and I drove down a residential side street on our way out of town, I spotted glorious rosebuds towering over a fence. We stopped and rang the bell at a garden gate, drawing Halyna out of her house. When interpreter Oleksandr Naselenko explained that an American reporter wished to ask about her roses, she did not hesitate to welcome us in.

In my story, I described Halyna鈥檚 rose garden as fit for a queen, which it truly was. But it was what she said as she presented to me the most beautiful bouquet I鈥檇 ever seen that stuck with me: 鈥淚 love these roses,鈥� she said, 鈥渂ut I don鈥檛 see them as all mine. They are in my garden, but their message of hope and peace is for everyone.鈥�

The joy of music

My heart鈥檚 place for you, Pokrovsk, expanded again in November 2024. On what would be my final visit, we discovered the modest rail yard building where composer Mykola Leontovych, in the early 1900s, wrote and rehearsed with the railroad men鈥檚 choir his famous 鈥淪hchedryk,鈥� known to me as 鈥淐arol of the Bells.鈥�

Thanks to that composition and the rapturous receptions it would garner across Europe and at Carnegie Hall in New York, Mr. Leontovych would become known as the Ukrainian Bach.

By that visit, which lasted just a few tense hours, your population had dwindled further, and the front was less than five miles away. Smashed and burnt buildings and concrete
anti-tank installations attested to the war鈥檚 encroaching presence. I imagined that despite the distant booms of war, I could hear that choir practicing a carol that would become another gift from Pokrovsk to the world. And I was filled with joy.

And yet, despite Russian President Vladimir Putin鈥檚 declaration last fall that after a 20-month siege, Pokrovsk was finally his, reports continue of ongoing battles, particularly in the north of the city, disputing Mr. Putin鈥檚 confident claim.

So, though I know you lie ruined and wasted, dear Pokrovsk, and that the many residents who welcomed this reporter and shared their stories are now gone, you also give me hope: that your Jubilee Park with its 1,300 roses has been spared, that the modest white stucco rail yard building where Leontovych composed 鈥淪hchedryk鈥� stills stands.

And that Halyna Fateieva鈥檚 roses have survived, and even now are preparing to burst into bloom this spring.

With enduring affection ...