The most inexhaustible, sublime, tender, and infinitely thorny subject for creativity is the theme of love. All poets of the world wrote, write and will write about this immense, marvelous, and deep feeling - poems, sonnets, dedications. And I'm one of them, who is trying to learn and understand my own self in the vast ocean of human happiness and misery, which name is love




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The boyhood barefoot comes back


The boyhood barefoot comes back

In my adult world as flashback:

At day’s break rising is the sun,

I dream myself just in the front


Of hut as squatting naked boy

Who is enraptured by the dawn,

By native village, treasured hearth

Of dear place where I was born.


I make for steppes, lie on the grass

Imploring sky: Oh, please, apprise

Why me is me? Give me a grasp

Of what I am? of whose device?


Summer rain, and over puddles

I will be splashing running gay.

And when from frost all people huddle

I’ll swallow keep for summer day.


I am trying rainbow to reach

And world to keep in my embrace

To color-paint its lucid bleach

And wake up to a rainbow break.


Where art thou, golden time? You flew

Away like bird, like lightning rive

The boyhood barefoot such plain,

But riddle complex still alive. 


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