«For A. Sakharov / / The storm has passed. Few of us survived. / Many are missing from friendship’s roll call. / I’ve returned to the orphaned region / I haven’t seen in eight years. / / Who should I call to? With whom should I share / The sad joy that I’m still alive? / ...»
«You remember, / Of course you remember it all. / You remember / How I stood by the wall, / How you walked nervously around the room / Throwing sharp words / In my face. / / You said / It was time to part ways, / That you had had enough / Of my manic life, / That it was time ...»
«I’m sick, my friend, / I’m very, very sick. / Can’t put my finger on the origin of this pain. / Either the wind whistles / Over an empty, deserted field, / Or alcohol rains on my brain / Like it's a September grove. / / My head flaps its ears / Like wings of a bird, / No l...»
«From the darkness the years flow out / Rustling noisily like a chamomile field. / There's a dog in my memory now, / She was my friend since I was kid. Now the ardor of youth has turned quiet / Like the maple by my window turned stale, / I remember a girl dressed in white / And a d...»