I disallow you to ask
me to write any of my poems.
Like Unicorn's bound and ties
such inspiration - is a nonsense.
And now - I start to think of you
any time I begin to write them.
But only icons and their bloom -
I dream to kiss in poems - only icons.
I can't love writing poetry.
and I hate it, to tell the truth.
It's only karma what they heal.
they are like regal thread of spew.
In silence as a breastplate I will hide -
that's what will give me peace and truth.
the white light's here, God is justified,
and it is sweet. I forgive you.
you pin in me as a request -
reality here, the whole weight of torment.
and all this pain I have to raise -
I am flying to verbiage.
correct sound and rhythm in verse,
suggested from above by Moses.
it calms me down, it will burn.
But such enjoyment: I don't want it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem