I Am In Rage For Caring For You So Much (English Sonnet) 3 Poem by Gert Strydom

(after Alexander Sergeyevich Pus)

I do you love, at night over you cry,
I am in rage for caring for you much,
without you it's as if slowly I die,
while I do yearn for your lingering touch.

There is great happiness at your shy smile,
when I do hear the patter of your feet
when you do brush through your hair for a while,
when our eyes do in each other's meet,

it becomes me not as I am mature
and when you do frown or do raise your voice
I am perturbed, of myself unsure.
To put our marriage on hold was your choice,

you have turned my life into great woe
when you asked me out of your life to go.

[Reference: 'Confession' by Alexander Sergeyevich Pus.


Poet's note: I am quoting this great poem right here:

'Confession' by Alexander Sergeyevich Pus

'I love you - I love you, e'en as I
Rage at myself for this obsession,
And as I make my shamed confession,
Despairing at your feet I lie.
I know, I know - It ill becomes me,
I am too old, time to be wise...
But how? ... This love - it overcomes me,
A sickness this in passion's guise.
When you are near I'm filled with sadness,
When far, I yawn, for life's a bore.
I must pour out this love, this madness,
There's nothing that I long for more!
When your shirts rustle, when, my angel,
Your girlish voice I hear, when your
Light step sounds in the parlour - strangely,
I turn confused, perturbed, unsure.
Your frown - and I'm in pain, I languish;
You smile - and joy defeats distress;
My one reward for a day's anguish
Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss.
When you sit, bent over your sewing,
Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing.
About your face, with tenderness
I like childlike watch, my heart o'erflowing
With love, in my gaze a caress.
Shall I my jealousy and yearning
Describe, my bitterness and woe
When by yourself on some bleak morning
Off on a distant walk you go,
Or with another spend the evening
And, with him near, the piano play,
Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving
Weep and in silence, pass the day?
Alina! Pray relent have mercy!
I dare not ask for love - with all
My many sins, both great and small,
I am perhaps of love unworthy!
But if feigned love, if you would
Pretend, you'd easily deceive me,
For happily would I, believe me,
Deceive myself if but I could! ']
© Gert Strydom