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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To me with itself it is not cheerful

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To me with itself it is not cheerful
And you mourns.
Sing to me, the darling, a song –
In it the melancholy will be diluted.
And winter bitter
Becomes us perinoju,
Share unlucky
Fairy tale becomes divnoju.

To me with you it is tender
And you all luxuriates.
The spirit will fall asleep, having cried at ease:
It will be consoled in you.

10.02.2006

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