Rain. Galina Intunshina

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      Sometimes I don’t know what to write

      Perhaps I’m not so modern.

      I like to read Dostoevsky, Lermontov

      Inks and a white sheet help me when I am bored.

      There are people for whom I can write…

      I don’t need praises or good words

      My soul writes: ready!

      Criticism is self-destruction,

      Almost without words – to armoury,

      Less for myself, more for others

      It is not a poem, it’s an aphorism

      You say the name in a whisper…

      The wind reminds me words.

      A boring autumn passed,

      Winter came.

      Winter returns me to life!

      I’m covered with hoarfrost, silver

      I didn’t gamboled so for a long time,

      With white linen.

      And ice shades around

      Snowflakes – a beautiful pattern,

      Stars became brighter,

      The Great Bear sleeps.

      I like summer and autumn!

      But winter is a fairy-tale home.

      I taught you the beautiful

      And you must take a dare,

      I want to fascinate you.

      Step by step, mildly and quietly,

      Treading on the old tightrope

      Carefully, looking,

      Being afraid of height and moving aside,

      I almost hold.

      I need go a little to the end.

      I hold my breath and then I take a run

      You are sad – but I’m fine,

      No love – it doesn’t matter,

      You know the truth, but I keep silence,

      If you want offend – I don’t forgive

      She is red-haired, beautiful, flying through waves

      She throws open a white-wings shining dress

      Has a smile, there is a flower in the hand,

      Angel for darling,

      Demon for masters.

      You are somewhere near…

      So not far from here…

      In open written note

      You are as the wind now here, now there,

      Playing with sound «half-and-half»

      You were almost caught up…

      We stumbled early,

      Deciding together – overseas,

      Somebody more and somebody less…