This book of my poems about how we human beings need each other, about the infinite value of every human life and the thirst for human communication, about the unbearable loneliness of the soul ... There a lot of experienced personally. However, perhaps all our poems - from the experienced person, for it is not experienced, and not through suffering lyricist ... can hardly touch the soul of another. And poetry is unlikely to have a right to be called. All you have to pay for real. And while we are alive - our whole will remain with us, no matter how many years have passed ... I thank you for what you have chosen to read this particular book.
A man does not die:
He was just dozing not breathing,
Lights burn or burns
His immortal soul.
It flies out of the abyss of light -
Over the expanse of mountains and water ripples ...
And only the echo of crying somewhere,
Crossing the sky ...
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