*** Alarmous sorrow of fogs hides from hellish, stranger’s eyes the museum of our waxen faces. What a pity that…
The war goes on.The war goes on.War runs.War flies.Today I rememberwith what passionin my childhoodwe used to shoot at the…
* * * Love is bitter by separation, by almonds, a ruined era, November, the splinter that sticks out in…
* * * Is it possible to get tired of many circumstances, of monotonous and monotonous life, of course it…
* * * Every nation and its country has a time of rise, growth and prosperity. It is true that…
* * * When we talk about life and death, it is hard to deny that when we are there,…
*** How to realizewhen we are standingbetween the worldsunder the watchfullook of the CreatorAnd someone of usthe same as we…
* * *Creator,take me throughthe warto the shore of childhood,where so beautiful and naiveLife began,where the toy daysnot knowing tirednessin…
* * *At zero of the warin the very heartof pain,right here,now,in solarcaptivitywe don’t havelife without youany more.In the corridors…
* * *Cyrillic script of sandsin the sand clockis similarto the barkhans ,dunes,ridgesand evento the tornstringsof violin,to the pain of…
*** I dreamed of your eyes - islands of loneliness in the ocean of human suffering and shot at point-blank…
While night declaims, essential peacefully melts, dissolves, disappears in the cloudless air of life-giving oblivion. On the top of the…
*** The last city, of the last star. Holidays of happiness. Years of doubt, years of silence. You at the…
*** Childhood – flower pollen, garden of time is fading, prairie of expectations, silk grass, wind is playing the violin.…
*** Givingriddles light,burdenedwith a mystery of summer,frozen in the herbariumof omenin the museumof poet’s voice. Translated by Nataliya Ogienko.