***
The stones of memories, warmed by the sun cools down.
Summer, like a shadow from a sundial,
reminds a happy times. Where is she? Did she
hide in a matchbox? Open it
and the days are like logs floating down a river,
will take you to the past, to your native shores,
and moistened matches will wait their time
and will warm the heart with red heat.
*** How can you singthese wordsat the height of glory,don’t you seethat all our vowelsare…
*** Alarmous sorrow of fogs hides from hellish, stranger’s eyes the museum of our waxen…
Yesterday, editor and literary critic Dmytro Drozdovsky received wonderful news about the publication of his…
The war goes on.The war goes on.War runs.War flies.Today I rememberwith what passionin my childhoodwe…