Categories: Poetry

New poetry

One day and you will understand

* * *

One day and you will understand
how memory burns the soul,
and shiver of the golden leaves
muffles longing of nights by the winds.
Bloody riot of the heart burns,
and waves foam with champagne,
and drum of the moon hovers
over the motherland in a complete silence.
Herd of the desperate birches
takes the days into the old summer,
the frost sparkles on the snow,
silence is dressed in the snowdrifts.
Winter is born in such a way
by the enthusiastic confusion, by the song,
and the shadow of love itself
languishes in the under heaven grove.

The sea

The sea is deprived of fiction. The sea
is the most earthly of all the earthly
wonders. The sea has a heavy breathing.
The sea – apotheosis of solitude. Its
heart is like a large jellyfish. How to
understand its vastness and crannies,
its secret pain. Only the cloud in the
sky in the summer heat looks like
its soul. The sea is defenseless and
always in sight. The sea shakes the
horizon in the hammock of its palms.
Life warms in its depths, sensual and
sublime, short-sighted and shy, like
a thought, soaring over the vastness
of the sea bottom. The salty truth
of the sea lives in the August Moon
glare of the autumn leaf fall.

At night the sun of the full moon

* * *

At night the sun of the full moon,
breathlessly, is waiting for
the whirlpool of deaf words
of the mad witch.
And a sunflower in the garden,
like the moon in the prime of life,
is circling stars in the dance,
looking after silence.
It’s hard to count secret delights,
people are gathering,
Chamber of random dreams will be,
bassoon of love will sound.
The sea of passion will overflow
by the wild gold of fields,
the nightingale will respond
from the yoke of soft power.

Like a fluent line

* * *

Like a fluent line,
with high cheekbones and strong,
as on the garden beds of spring,
I run away in absentia
as a not memorized syllable
from the captured hand.
Everything found and lost –
leave for my friends.
With our confused friendship,
independent from words,
I part unpretentiously,
without many troubles.
Autumn tree in such a way
through the ice drift of foliage
bends the farewell winds
to the dale of winter omens
in the sacred evenings,
where there is absence of us.

Oh, happiness, happiness, as the dirt under the fingernails.

* * *

Oh, happiness, happiness, as the dirt under the fingernails.
Isn’t it too much? Come on, let it live together with me,
though there is no another place, perhaps, but somewhere,
where it’s sated and quiet, and it’s impossible to find it at all.
Habitual and deceptive world will go away forever,
and the new one will not come at all, that’s why it’s new,
but if it comes, we will spoil, destroy it.
All has been proved, and it seemed to me that it’s possible
differently, if you believe and to live with belief.

From bloody threshold

* * *

From bloody threshold
and further – along the fate
road of regret
is calling to itself.
Not simple, not bright
without stage and without swears,
gifts aren’t being given,
soffits aren’t burning.
No noise and no glory,
light of delight is going out,
neither left nor right,
no violent victories.
Only tiredness of blind sleeps
on the ashes of daydreams,
in miserable life stayed a smallness
of the orphaned tears.

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