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 unique

In my melancholy – a rustle of a grass and a moonlight.
In my love – much a dream and much delirium.
I that rush to you, I try to catch each your eye.
That I become isolated, I long and I go back.

You not last, not you – it is necessary to understand the first.
You – my unique. You are only capable to captivate,
To do mad and to do svoeju raboj.
The pain – without you to be, and the pleasure to me – to be with you.

2002.

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