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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It is possible?

It is possible for me to die?
Be not afraid, I am cautious.
I do not wish to be ill.
Simply tell: it is possible?
I will not fill in your floor
Darkening dirty blood,
I will not befoul a table
Note with rotten love.
It is possible for me to die?
Be not afraid, I am cautious.
Only not to dare to regret!
Simply tell – it is possible?

29.11.93.

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21.05.2007 16:25 This delightful poem if so to ponder, it much about what can tell! Even some think in this direction of a poem, think, but fortunately not all do. To put it briefly, there are no words, emotions and only!
Elena


17.06.2007 22:23 it is beautiful... But it is sad... In one song there are words - "What a pity it is impossible to open a window and to make last sin..." People - like a life - it one...
Elenka


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