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 you can tell: you have got tired?
- Yes, apparently, very much.
- From the ugly body?
- Yes, first of all?
- So, what it is necessary to think?
- Yes, the whole nights.
- So, what you with it agree?
- Yes, it is difficult, if you want.

- You doom to a life of grey.
- Yes, so I am severe.
- Eh you, misfortune of the cold North,
- No, docher the East.

- Dump the grief, stop expectation.
- No, to me not on forces.
- Become a nightingale, a song be also the legend.
- No, I am not beautiful.
- Haze disperse, well them to hell – sufferings.
- No, I not the lucky.
- Well stop loving – for it punishment.
- No, I annoying …

1996

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