Poems

The poem always was for me the form of expression of feelings. In two-three stanzas finds room much – the overflowing emotions asking on will of thought, impetuous passion. Not having possibility to give vent to this all on a paper, for a long time would descend suma from an overabundance of feelings. And so – anything, it was possible to consult. Improbably it would be desirable, not spending, certainly, not deserved analogies to repeat thereupon Sergey Yesenin's words: «as to other autobiographical data, - they in my verses».

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The complaint

Regret me, please, —
So has got tired!
I will complain to you of all,
It becomes easier.
I will tell insults bitter
And grieves,
That they have left, were not remembered,
That have lagged behind.
You cover me from eyes human,
Hide from the world,
That could live far from them
That liked.
That did not think about tomorrow's,
About the yesterday's.
That a vein one today's,
The present.
Regret me, please,
To me so it is sad!
However, complain – do not complain,
It is empty … It is empty!

25.02.07.

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17.11.2007 23:59 Gallantly!... Good luck to you.
MARGO


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