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 airport

The airport buzzes as a beehive
In the having wallowed to vanity.
Hundred persons have looked, have flown,
Yes only persons all not those.
Among thousand eyes to me so it is melancholy.
Through a hall huge I pass
Carts, people by scurry about.
I search, I search, I do not find.
You have not informed on yourselves.
I know – means, could not,
But two deep wrinkles
Impudently between eyebrows have laid down.

02.06.05

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