A cake, a party, good news—
that won't work.
Chatting, talking to him—
that won't work.
He is sad, bored of life.
He wants nothing,
and for that reason
he feels no reward.
How can he be happy?
How can he enjoy life
and all of its good things?
How can he?
He can't.
Right now, he is depressed.
Why?
We don't know.
Until when?
We don't know.
Since when?
We think that it has been four months—
he feels like it has been since he was born.
So we don't know.
The only thing we know
is that he is sad.
Really sad.
Deeply, truly, terribly sad.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 1:38 PM UTC
A cake, a party, good news—
that won't work.
Chatting, talking to him—
that won't work.
He is sad, bored of life.
He wants nothing,
and for that reason
he feels no reward.
How can he be happy?
How can he enjoy life
and all of its good things?
How can he?
He can't.
Right now, he is depressed.
Why?
We don't know.
Until when?
We don't know.
Since when?
We think that it has been four months—
he feels like it has been since he was born.
So we don't know.
The only thing we know
is that he is sad.
Really sad.
Deeply, truly, terribly sad.
"Toska" is a Russian word that describes a kind of existential anguish with no known reason, that can range from from ennui to actual depression.
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Copyright: Shattentraumer, 2026. Licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/). Original: https://hellopoetry.com/poems/5260051/toska
