*** A still sky after hours of storm: You see the trees standing silent As there is no wind anymore. Slowly, as if invisible Van Gogh, Rublev, or Shostakovich, Crusading…
*** Painting icons in the postmodern kitchen, Under the scrutiny of stoves and vegetables, At the cooking crossroad of air and fire, water and earth, A pilgrimage through the memory…
*** I can’t remember a more arctic spring, I conclude work and sit alone in the tower, With blinds up, with eyes down, Trying to attract summer. This is one…
*** Where does she begin and end? She descends from above the clouds, Seeps from the hidden glacier, Born near the sky’s surface, In the snow-capped triangle - My eye…
*** Titled ‘Branches’. It makes you look and look some more. A jungle of signs, A line path of cranes over the sky sucks my eye, In the twists of the trees, in the stormy…
*** My love for the countryside in the fall, The smell of the soil, Van Gogh of sea-buckthorns, Rodin of the sky, The air “of thoughts”, Unhurried walks towards the…
*** I have attended the concert of your lips, I am sure I know of no agony comparable To sensing of this opera. The “bogatyrs” they are, Are chivalrous, Are…
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