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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Your voice was strange, no string of tender sorrow





Your voice was strange, no string of tender sorrow.

It swore to seek me but was seeking not,

And love of mine, and saddenéd affection.

Just sense of parting which apart us brought.


Oh, please, come, hour, when you sigh: “My dear,

I missed you much!” And as it was before

Love symphony’s euphonious trumpets

For us sweet harmony will blow forth.


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