It’s about time. To hear, to find
Raison d’etre, to try, to budge,
To come to terms, to go behind,
To realize, to guess, to judge.
  
It’s about time to fall in love,
Enjoy it every moment and day,
And watch the gleamy stars above,
And simply live, eat, love, and pray.

It’s all about time: you decide at last
To make a cherished dream come true,
No longer worry over foolish trifles,
rejoice at everything you do.

It’s time to watch the sky and sea,
White sail and beautiful sunset,
And feel with every cell "I’m free",
And cherish those who you have met.

Soul-painter’s at the easel many years.
It rhymes my life with poems, music, colors
Rotation of nuances, dreams and shades,
Births, failures, victories and trials.

It rhymes black sorrow with the bad.
Green breathes with nirvana and repose.
Love runs through life like a golden thread.
It rhymes the shades of blue with hope.

The lines disturb the emptiness of white
With all that years, mistakes and wisdom,
With pain, experience and fight,
Despair, rashness, lyricism.

They are about the chance and expectations,
Without one loosing heart in grief and stress.
Indian summer softens autumnal frustrations,
Helps not to think about cold winter mess.

My age is unknown – the metrics are lost.
I’ll make up my face that wrinkles crisscrossed
Just dark veil of years beclouds tired eyes,
More different knowledge, more bitter cries.

There’s no sense in bitterness, sadness and regrets
Hopes and expectations are better than upsets.
I’ll delete the «Misses», «Tears» and «Losses» files,
I go boldly forward, not afraid of trials.

The soul has no autumn, love has no end
If it doesn’t happen, start over again.
Let thanks be for the past, let thoughts be for the present.
Chance -- for the impossible, wisdom -- for the transient.

Fleeting forbidden embraces,
Bitter flavor on lying lips,
Peak of pleasure without impregnation,
Common bed and home only in dreams.

There are the unborn children’s cots,
Lampshade over the table and fireplace,
Colored patches of favorite photos
From celebrations, trips and other days.

Together in sorrow, together in joy,
We cannot part even for a day.
But the roosters shouted ... Go away, my dream.
The shadow of illusions, go away.

White happens to be very bright
White happens to be compound,
Dirt leaves no stains on white,
The sound of cymbals — white sound.

There are many shades of white,
Symbols, foretokens and meanings.
Brides strive after bliss in white
In London, Belgrade and Campinas.

White dove is a symbol of peace.
White flag means cessation of arms.
They grieve in white clothes for deceased
In Tokyo, Shanghai, Sasaram.

Women pick their partners themselves —
These immutable rules of white dance.
There’s no habit to be in the row —
It’s not easy to be a white crow.

A lot of nuances: pearl, opal and ice,
White night and white whisper and usual rice.
Noble ivory, creamy, vanilla and grey.
Unreachable, mystic and far Milky Way.