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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ZHelane

Switch off the bitter TV,
Lower brown curtains.
In silence of hours the reprise knocks,
On a wall – shades and hands patterns.

Eyelids open, do not frown an eyebrow.
You do not sleep: talk to me.
Be afraid, as well as I, the spilt blood.
Dissolve in disbelief with toskoju.

It is all. Already it is not important,
Where your reason and a blind body.
If you have understood all, having got off twice,
I will tell, how I wanted you.

1994

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