Two different women names his mouth calls,
One in a prayer and another one in curse.
The ****** one makes him suffer, though yet he longs for her in passion spell.
His body and the soul dwell in a bitter strife between the Heaven and the Hell.

Blessed be the one, who loves and who is loved, such love is most expensive treasure.
That lucky one, surprised and stunned, sinks into the ocean of nirvana's pleasure.
And only poet can experience sometimes quite similar self satisfying festive mood,
The bard, whose words were read and meaning of his words was felt and understood.

This tree is obsolete, its shrunken roots have lost support of ground.
It doesn't hear voice of spring, birds chorus's trills it doesn't hear sound.
Gone are audacity and fun of crown's growth rage,
Killed by the cold hangover brought by unforgiving age.
In dreamlike memories of youth this tree is held enchanted by the past,
By happiness and love that were alive, alas, they long have passed.

But, strangely, on its trunk the tender green shoot of escape I see,
Which props itself through wrinkles of its bark's dried up and deadened skin.
Oh, tree of life - not yet completed is your time.
As long as you can stand -  life's heavy burden you shall overcome!

My reader, looking at the ring, have ever you been caught
On efforts, spent to make it, sudden flashing thought?
About sifting through waste rock to find the rare gem
Where mother-nature hided it from curiousity of men.

About jeweler's stone cutting skillful labor duty
To grind the gem, exposing all it brilliance and beauty?
About ring design, embodying stone in golden artful frame
Creating masterpiece to glorify forever craftsman's name?

Likewise, in poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard feelings puts in words to shows time's connection act.

In love and respect our planet may thrive,
In hate and abuse - just only survive.
Let peace be the law all over the Earth,
To be place where living is worth!

My train of life is rushing in acceleration;
There is one coupe and one wagon in it.
There are no other passengers on that train.
This train is just for me.

I'm holding an invisible ticket,
Punched as many times as the number of years, that I have lived .
Each year, the Controller checked it,
Making sure that I don't miss my end station.

I am sitting on the shelf, staring out the window.
There miles are flashing, but I don't worry.
As long as the wheels knock on the rails ...
But I know that for me there is no turning back.

My train of life is rushing in acceleration;
There is one coupe and one wagon in it.
Among the dark night or nice bright day
My stop will catch up to me.

Time blew away without a trace young years in a blast...
I keep the calendar same way, like memory of past,
Reminding me of my childhood, hanged on the wall by nail,
Though count diminished of left days in my life story tale.

Pulled out days can't be replaced, can't be relived again,
So few red colors were in them, so much black ink of pain.
Someday I'll part with you for good, for someone else to care,
Without me to celebrate the eve of next New Year.