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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The twilight has veiled night stars...

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The twilight has veiled night stars,
Dark streets have hidden light.
Wet asphalt has plunged into dreams,
Evening has left, and morning all is not present.

Having hidden eyes in not read book
I among lines search for you.
On a table, on written sitting,
I wait for continuation of last day.

Groan has sounded as structure a roar,
Having made deaf and mute silence.
Whether I hear your tired whisper
Or, as always, I say lies to myself?

1993

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