Madness

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».

Madness

Darkness. Loneliness. Slush.
Only measured voice of hours.
All — an otioseness and fragmentary memory
Without delights, desires, without words.

Pile of books. A sheet of paper. Ink.
And a confused voice of hours.
Even if I did not like you –
Who will interrupt colourfulness of dreams?

Thin beam and shivering hands.
Irritating voice of hours.
The brain pulses, connected by a flour,
Eternally held down in one hundred fetters.

The dried up fragmentary lips.
Gradually-mad voice of hours.
Behind doors – concrete pipes
And vodoju the filled ditch.

Iskazhenno-shivering body.
Humiliating laughter of hours.
The madness so has wanted:
Is not present neither it is more than reason, nor words.

1994

Poems

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