Lyudmila Purgina Poems

The day is rare - it's warm, but no melting, -
May be the Nature now has its own resourse, -
And today... as it was earlier frequently,
I'm again starting the lyrical course.
...

Last time, when in the darkness moon
Was flowing along the hazy desert,
I saw the girl at window
Was sitting lonely and pensive.
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By Alexander Blok

I'm whiling away my life,
My close crazy life awhile:
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On common graves you could hardly find cross,
And widows don't cry ever-
There someone will bring the bouquet of the roses,
And burn the Eternal Flame there.
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The demon
by Alexander Block

Lean to me, dear, closer, harder,
...

I

The day was over; in a blue gown
Guadalkvivir (* the river in Spain) was flowing, whirling,
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Again with dawn the sun has lit
The wing of airplane, anew.
And pardon me, that I don't live
On earth for long to meet with you.
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And you are not able to hear
The twinkle of cold leaves.
And you are not able to see
The quiver of the stone boughs...
...

The hours, and days, and years go.
I wish to throw off my dream,
To look into the faces, rows
Of people, in the nature green.
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1. Where are your seventeen?
On the Great Karetny.
Where are the seventeen grieves?
On the Great Karetny.
...