I am a teacher of English and a bit of a poet. I was brought up reading Russian classical literature and I love my language a lot. I write my poems in Russian and translate some of them into English. I also have few poems which were originally written by me in English. more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Saniya Galeyeva Poems
For you our love was neither strong nor real But I had both wild fears and odd hopes. And now in my soul there's a mausoleum, It's a remembrance of the joy we lost.
I fell in love with a beautiful beast
My son, You are the best one For me. My son,
After sex with you I’ve got your smell on my skin. You’ve got my smell too. And you’ve got the smell of sin.
Fly, fly like a bird. Fly away. Fly away from me. I cannot hold you in my arms.
From The Tips Of The Fingers
From the tips of your fingers My love is slipping away. But kind time will dry my tears. I wonder, what will remain?
Time heals. Time kills. It heals our hearts from the disease called love. It kills the crazy stuff inside of us called love.
Love Is You
It`s a bird. Look at it. It is me. Not a tomtit,
He Called Me
He called me 'my wonderful flower'. He called me 'my beautiful princess'. He was both my love and my lover Presenting me thousands of kisses.
A tale about one doll
Once upon a time there was one doll. She had big green eyes, and her nose was small. Tiny were her hands, feet and plump red lips. White was her smooth skin, rosy were her cheeks.
I Will Play This Part
I will play this part So skillfully that Nobody would guess That my mind's in a mess.
Close Your Eyes and Listen To The Music
Close your eyes and listen to the music, Coming from my semi-precious soul. If you touch my dream, you`ll make me lose it. Go and go on falling like a stone.
Kiss me, kiss me again. Kiss me this way. Kiss me that way. Show me with your kiss
God Sold My Poor Soul
God sold my poor soul For nothing, for a penny. I was left alone. And nobody could save me.
Comments about Saniya Galeyeva
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
For you our love was neither strong nor real
But I had both wild fears and odd hopes.
And now in my soul there's a mausoleum,
It's a remembrance of the joy we lost.
How can I bury all those golden feelings
That you woke up in my heart? Though they died
It seems as if they were alive and breathing.
How can I write them off? I do not understand.
There is a cold and gloomy mausoleum
That is inside of me and that is simply me.
Let people call me stubborn, odd or silly -
For me your fake love oath was like a wedding ring.