Hormones in youth are ticking bombs—
and Freud’s just chuckling in his grave.
Love’s eyes still gleam like polished guns,
but necks? Oh necks won’t misbehave.

Eyes lock—a beauty storms the scene!
Neck, don’t you dare! (It dares. Of course.)
She floats like anarchist’s dream—
same then. Same now. Same deadly force.

Women’s sly smiles? Just primers set.
Men’s chests? Just trenches, soft and weak.
Love is a blaze! (Doubt? Just regret.)
Youth—dear friend—pray, don’t speak.

But age? A ceasefire, calm, profound.
Hormones now sleep—no more unrest.
Eyes see the truth (it’s bleak, I’ve found):
that beauty walks… still bombshell-dressed.

Ah! Pavlov’s mutts just drool and stare.
Neck—why still twist? The threat’s long gone!
Terror? Exes? Just hot air.
You look. They look. The script reads on.

Women—eternal partisan,
from Mars? From hell? Who even knows?
They’re strange. They’re sharp. They’ve got a plan.
Hormones? Asleep. War’s on freeze.

Ivan Pavlov, a Nobel Prize laureate, was a renowned Russian physiologist best known for his work on classical conditioning, famously demonstrated in his experiments with dogs.

Outside the window, along the lanes,
the dawn with rose the birches glows.
Winter has painted the skies in a soft, blue velvet haze.
The distant cars’ hum and the fleeting sketches of passers near,
The city slowly awakens ‘neath the morning’s radiant skies.

The New Year’s games are done, the time is now,
To start anew, as in the year that’s gone.
No guiding roads, no harbor can we know,
We’ll brave the storm, no fortress built upon!

Time fills us with wisdom, like a magical dew,
Far behind are the greens of poplar* hopes we once knew.
We only once sail life’s river in our soul’s gentle skiff,
And nothing can unveil the grief that sealed eyelids hold.

* The poplar symbolizes youth and lost hopes, which, like greenery, remain in the past.

Silently one can love,
Forlornly shrouded in thoughts,
Drunk on imagined lies,
Awaiting the heart's reply.

Yet hard it is, at times, to keep
the little bonds of friendship alive,
To reconcile amidst the whirl of doubt,
And hold the initial impulses in sight.

And now it’s neither friendship nor encounter,
We just pass by, without a glance.
How painfully time heals us,
deepening the loneliness of weekdays.

No longer friendship, nor a chance to meet,
We pass by, as strangers do.
How painfully time heals our wounds,
Leaving us in solitude’s rue.

In life, perhaps, I fear no more a thing,
But pangs of conscience frighten my weary soul.
In night’s deep hush, I pray, my voice takes wing –
My heart aches sharp, and tears begin to roll.

Some are no more. Their souls to heavens fled.
No chance to meet, embrace, or greet again.
What is life? A fleeting flash...
The wave runs fast, by breakwaters split and spread.
No words remain to answer for the pain.

Forgive me now, for I was blind with pride,
Why did I fling sharp words into your face?
Forgive me, those I wounded in my rage,
Back then, life’s feast seemed like eternal grace,
And I felt not the sting of conscience’s bite.

O wisdom, soothe this sorrow in my breast!
In Lethe’s stream, no soul may enter twice –
To you, departed, much I owe, confessed.
The voice of conscience screamed in night’s still air...

Lethe – the river of oblivion in Greek mythology.

Madam History sways, it swings, it plays,
It climbs so high,
Then downward strays!
Nothing stands still—it all goes on.
On steel so thin, we’ve stepped, the cornice.

At deadlock’s point, the tension grows—
To and fro,
Fro and to!
And all could end in one swift flow…
But the trumpet’s not yet blown!

There’s hope, my friend—it lies in Salvation!
It’s not so simple, dear, you’ll see.
The apocalypse’s ruination?
But not yet built is our redoubt!

Still History sways, it swings, it plays,
The skies won’t fall, they’ll hold their place.
The Beast still growls, it bites, it preys…
And builds its fiery stronghold’s base!

*redoubt – a defensive structure.


     Мадам История

Мадам История качается.
Стремится вверх,
Несётся в низ!
Всё не стоит – всё продолжается.
На тонкий встали мы карниз.

У мёртвой точки напряжение –
Туда-сюда,
Сюда – туда!
И может всё в одно мгновение…
Но не трубит ещё Труба!

Надежда есть – она в спасение!
Не так всё просто, милый друг.
Апокалипсиса крушение?
Но не построен тот редут!

Ещё История качается
И небеса не упадут.
А Зверь рычит и огрызается…
И строит огненный оплот!

I love to soar o’er fields of purest white
Where blooming words in beauty softly lie.
I fly with cranes beneath the morning light".
And as I gaze, the world begins to fly!

How boundless stretch the vast and  blueish sky !
"Where shall I go?" my restless soul now sighs.
In the distance, thunderous clouds billow high,
And squally winds begin to whistle loud

The calm gave way to tempest wild and vast.
The thunder roars; the lightning splits the air.
Above my head, doubts circle, swift and wild.
‘Sit down now!’ my thoughts begin to cry.

Doubts rise, unclear, like shadows in the breeze,
Through art’s vast fields, unreaped, they stray.
The stillness falls — and whispers in the trees,
As storm clouds fade, and winds bring peace,
Delighting me today.

From doubts, new lines of beauty start to grow,
Transforming into poems, bright and true,
At times, like diamonds’ brilliance, they will glow —
At times, they’re dull, unworthy of review.

                            Вдохновение

Люблю полёт над белыми полями —
На них цветут красивые слова.
Лечу над ними вместе с журавлями —
Cмотрю вокруг — кружится голова!

Как необъятны дали голубые!
Куда лететь, подумала душа?
Вдали клубятся тучи грозовые,
И шквальный ветер начал вдруг свистать.

Сменилась тишь отчаянной грозою!
И гром грохочет – молнии кроят.
Сомнения над буйной головою…
Садись скорее! Мысли закричат.

Сомнения, неясные тревоги...
У творчества несжатые поля.
И снова тишь —
И тучи грозовые уносит ветер,
радуя меня.

И из сомненья строки вырастают —
Потом цветут красивые стихи.
Они порой алмазами блистают —
Порой скучны, бездарны и пусты.

What is humility?  
The soul’s enlightenment  
The prideful opinion
Of self—extinguish pride.

"I" swells with grandeur’s might,
The demon tickles the chest.  
-Whatever I wish, it shall be!-  
Friend, do not make yourself laugh!  

The tablets know no lies,
Their words, sincere and pure.
Inscribed in life’s eternal book,
Man’s deeds shall long endure.

In God's image we're made —
This says it all!  
Why do you gaze as a noble?  
What is your grandeur?  

Only the truly righteous  
Live in humility!  
The prideful, he is greedy...  
Yet he will come there too.

Before the gates beyond the grave,
No silver coins will ring.  
Live without hatred in your heart,
Let kindness be your spring.

See the blade of grass swaying,  
See the little bird flying –  
It all begins with Him.  
God watches over all.  

Made in His image!  
We must walk the path of life...  
The cards are dealt to all –  
Choose your path wisely.