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 red. Black...

* * *

The red. Black.
Stains washed away.
I bark, I argue.
Malicious, angry.
The black. Red.
All – delusion.
The sea rainy –
Here disposal.

Life — red-black.
I – black-red.
Both intolerable.
Both dangerous.

07.11.05

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