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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Life pain

All the same, that will be tomorrow,
To spit on that was.
Behind fragments of happiness,
Horse-radish one in the end – a tomb.
There are no people. To whom you will tell,
That in you continuous boredom,
That you to sleep at daybreak will lay down,
That love and a life – a science.
Exist svoeju a pain,
Listen to hearts knock in calm,
And all of them wounds – salt,
That "grief" "rage" left.

1995

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22.04.2007 23:50 Spravedlivo
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