Holder Volkano — Abdusalomov Holdor Usmanovich was born in 1959 in Uzbekistan.He graduated from Tashkent National University. He wrote 5 novels, dozens of stories, and 3 novels in two languages, Uzbek and Russian. He also wrote more than 1,000 poems in two languages in the genre of landscape poetry, making every effort to preserve the purity of verbal beauty in his poems, striving to convey to readers deep romantic feelings, reflections, surprise and admiration through the description of the landscapes of nature. Holdor Vulkan also translated the works of many Japanese poets into Uzbek. He does everything possible to ensure that his literary works do not contain propaganda of secular and religious fanaticism and signs of Nazism. It depicts the struggle for democratic ideals in a free society where all the peoples of the planet can live in peace and harmony as members of a single family, regardless of their nationality, race and religion. He openly fought for democratic transformations in society, and as a result, he had to leave his homeland to save his family from the then dictatorship. He has been living in Canada for 20 years now. His literary works have been translated into English. He has no titles or awards.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
(The book is dedicated to the memory of my late elder brother Abdusalomov Yusufjan Usmanovich, who died at the age of one.)<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
Don’t be jealous of the birch trees, wife!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the distance, the autumn wooded hills, Looking at them, I freeze and melt. The hills are like frozen waves, Where the leaves from the birches are quietly flying around. There, the wind is leaning against a birch tree, Playing an invisible accordion. Leaves are falling like tears from eyelashes, The fall of leaves is mumbling sleepily about something. I like to wander alone through the alleys, in the autumn months and weeks, So that my soul burns like a lamp When golden snowstorms are circling. I’m crazy about the autumn birches, Which are noisy and ringing in the groves. As I leave, at the garden gate I’d say: — Don’t be jealous of the birch trees, wife!<\/p>\n
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09\/08\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
The glowing coals of the mountain ash are smoldering<\/p>\n
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The snow is already on the street first, A swarm of countless flakes are swirling. The snowy silence calms the nerves, There is white silence and peace around. People look at the snow from the windows, Frost sparkles on the branches of the trees. Scarlet bullfinches swallow whole, Red-hot coals of mountain ash.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/09\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
Evening in the village<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The horses drink clear water from the watering hole silently, moving their lips. The sun sinks into the lava of sunset, the Cicadas ring shrilly in chorus. The clouds that floated on the river are carelessly rushing on the manes of the waves. On the riverbank, water lilies took root In the mirror of the water. Sunflowers by the country road, sad in the sunset fields. There are cows in the evening pastures, bellowing Long, calling calves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Patches<\/p>\n
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It was entangled, like the moon in a web of it’s own rays. It looks into the eyes of the windows Like the enchantress of glass eyes. The cricket sharpens its voice in the darkness, no one knows how to sing songs like it. There are patches of glowing windows on the black and long dress of the night.<\/p>\n
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10\/12\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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In the river delta<\/p>\n
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I don’t know exactly how much the dew necklace weighs on the thin web. A bright moon shines over the evening river, like the blade of a scythe. Sleepy trills of frogs on the shore, A star flies like an arrow across the sky. The evening lit the lamps of white water lilies in the river delta.<\/p>\n
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11\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Longing for spring<\/p>\n
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The sorceress of spring works wonders, waking nature from a sweet dream. Soon, the migratory birds will return to us, deafening the skies with their cries, the water will gurgle merrily in the rivers, and spring will come like a beautiful young lady. A wagtail will sing loudly in the gardens: — Chka dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee! After hearing this in silence for a while, people will stop digging their vegetable gardens, and enjoy the singing of birds, Leaning against the handle of the shovels.<\/p>\n
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16\/10\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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A flimsy dam<\/p>\n
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Across this Canadian river, it\u2019s as if theirs Uzbek cotton fields, and your window’s cutains in the distance, looks like a hand. It waves at me. It\u2019s like I\u2019m about to drown in your eyes, Like a reflection of a puddle in spring. Your joyful tears, trembling, Will break through the dam of your eyelashes.<\/p>\n
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20\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Square eyes<\/p>\n
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The night sees dreams, snoring frogs, a swarm of distant stars. A ring glows around the moon, In the sky where God lives alone. Amber lights somewhere across the river, tremble like tears on the eyelashes of the night. Seeing all this, the eyes of the windows became Square with delight.<\/p>\n
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22\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The hypnotic darts of the stars are flying<\/p>\n
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The moon is illuminating my room, With my cheek pressed against the glass of the window. Crickets sing sleepily and restlessly, Dogs bark hollowly across the river. Driving away bad thoughts, Somehow dispelling my dreams, the night placed the white record back into the gramophone, an ancient record of the moon. Frogs snore, the open spaces sleep, Listening to the noise and rustle of birch trees. The hypnotic darts of the stars are flying across the sky in the twilight.<\/p>\n
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24\/07\/2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Fields melt in the July haze<\/p>\n
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Sultry cotton fields in the distance, Melting in the July haze. Poplar cicadas are ringing in the wind, trout are drowsily splashing in the pond. July was already shocked with wild delight, The silence around, the tranquility. A whirlwind is indifferently on a sand dune, performing a belly dance.<\/p>\n
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12\/06\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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After the downpour<\/p>\n
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Just as it started it stopped, pouring like a bucket of rain. From the sad sigh of the wind rustling, they look into puddles, as if into a willow mirror. Raindrops are hanging on the branches, The branches of the trees are about to drop them If the intoxicating wind suddenly touches them.<\/p>\n
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07\/10\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Waiting for the birds to fly away<\/p>\n
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The rain knocks the leaves off the trees, the day is gray as an X-ray. The grove is buzzing with half-naked trees, The first snow is just around the corner. The frozen sparrows are chattering in the bushes, winds are looking for each other and calling. Oh birdhouses on the long poles, don’t look so sadly to the south!<\/p>\n
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07\/15\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Plowing a field of paper with a pen
\n(In memory of the magnificent Uzbek poet Ravshan Fayz)<\/p>\n
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Sheep and cows are returning from the pastures, and the moon is shining strikingly brightly. Silently illuminating deserted roads, it wanders alone In the sky. The winds of the valleys are walking across the fields. The moon is shining dazzlingly over the village. A man, like a tractor, plows in the distance a field of paper with a pen.<\/p>\n
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16\/08\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The Flaming Parachute<\/p>\n
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The sunset ship is burning on the shoal, The reservoirs and the skies are thickly reddened. Oak groves and forests were deafened by the chirping of birds that sang. A chorus of frogs sing in the pond carelessly, where the reeds and snowflowers rustle. Evening descended quietly and carefully, on a parachute flaming into the meadows.<\/p>\n
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01\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Winter solitude<\/p>\n
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I was sitting alone with my shadow, and the darkness was whispering through the snowy windows. Outside the window, the blizzard is crying and singing, I think it’s gone crazy. The campfire at home is burning in the fireplace, Winter is sharpening the sword in the blizzard. Let it whistle through it’s teeth angrily, and I’ll listen to the crackling speech in silence by the fireplace.<\/p>\n
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03\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Mist calls me with trams<\/p>\n
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Trees are scurrying in a snowy fog, roads and yards are covered with snow. Cringing like a belated drunk pedestrian, snowflakes silently crumble the lanterns. The shadow of a pine tree lying on a snowdrift is tired and sleepy. It’s dark for me through the snow flakes, The last trams are ringing me.<\/p>\n
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07\/28\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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October has already blown the crane’s horn<\/p>\n
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They didn’t even notice how the summer was gone, autumn came, burning with maples. There is a scarecrow dressed in a pea coat, and an evil blizzard is just around the corner. A janitor in a cap shuffles with a broom, October blew a crane horn. The fall of leaves in the grove whispers and whispers the name of the girl it loved.<\/p>\n
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13\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The cricket is singing loudly behind the stove<\/p>\n
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A frosty night, the moon carefully parted the clouds like a curtain. Throwing your hat would’nt be difficult to hang on the crescent moon. It’s snowing outside, going crazy, The lanterns have wearily lowered their gazes. Winter etches with cold breath, icy patterns on the window panes. Turning off the light, I sit in the dark, The ringing silence in my house. The snow illuminates my soul to the bottom, The cricket sings loudly behind the furnace.<\/p>\n
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27\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The accordion breathes music<\/p>\n
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The stars are God-lit candles, even in the wind they do not fade away. The reflection of the moon is wavering in the mirror pond, speechless. Somewhere a cricket is singing restlessly, Chirping, looking for a bride. Flapping its gills in the moonlight, the accordion breathes music.<\/p>\n
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16\/02\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The snowstorm was creaking all night<\/p>\n
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The street lamp is touchy and vulnerable, There is a snowy ellipsis and darkness outside the window. You look out the window at them alone, trying not to go crazy. Slowly approaching, then going far away, the gray snowstorm swept all night. In the snowy twilight, somewhere across the river tired dogs of the village were barking.<\/p>\n
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19\/07\/2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The firebirds are flying south<\/p>\n
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Pausing for a moment, I look at the sunset, silently directing My gaze into the distance. The river roars in unison with the seagulls, causing sadness and melancholy. Sunset blazes like hellfire beyond the distant fields and meadows again. Flaming wings rhythmically flapping, Fire birds fly to the south.<\/p>\n
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27\/08\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Fridge<\/p>\n
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It was snowing heavily outside, and the blizzard was singing at the top of its lungs. The man abruptly opened the refrigerator, Looking for snacks with vodka. He opened it and froze in delight, A blizzard was whistling in the refrigerator. Birds were flying through the snow flakes in search of something to eat.<\/p>\n
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04\/01\/2015. Canada.the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
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The call of childhood<\/p>\n
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The river delta has serene water, reeds rustle like gardens in the wind. A red-haired dragonfly sits on a fishing rod, Reflecting brightly in the mirror of the water. Where the poplars descend to the river, the Hoopoe sings dully and monotonously. As if across the river, somewhere in the distance, My distant childhood is calling me. Whoop, whoop, whoop! Whoop, whoop, whoop! Whoop-whoop-whoop!..<\/p>\n
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22\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Oh autumn, tell me, who are you sad about?<\/p>\n
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Across the boundless ocean of heaven, Cranes on a raft sail away to the south. To keep up and pull themselves up, They loudly call each other. The cranes are flying further and further away, no one is visible in the fields and meadows. A scarecrow waves to flying birds, with an excessively long and torn sleeve. Who is the train crying for across the fields? Autumn, tell me, who are you sad about? You keep washing everything with your tears of slanting rain, Gray, tarnished window panes.<\/p>\n
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24\/11\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The sinful fall of leaves<\/p>\n
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Summer has flown south with the birds, and autumn is assembling a puzzle made of leaves. There is silence in the forests, birds do not sing, Moose cross the road in silence. It’s too late for the winds to play love me or love me not with the chamomile, The willows by the river rustle thoughtfully. Whispering a prayer, it prays in the gardens for God to forgive it’s old sins.<\/p>\n
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03\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Life is like ash on the tip of a cigarette<\/p>\n
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The day has already burned down at sunset, and the soot is quietly settling in the evening. The train galloped away with iron hooves, Its distant footsteps could be heard. The stars are falling in the twilight, I see the wind weaving patterns from the shadows. Time runs recklessly, and life is like ash on the tip of a cigarette.<\/p>\n
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10\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Sunset<\/p>\n
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The river is rushing and making noise about something, The sun has lowered its anchor. It was as if a scarlet, flaming sunset had thrown a torch into the reservoirs. The shore is already flooded with sunset light, knee-deep reeds and meadows in the water. Cows moo long in the distance, In the silence of the afternoon meadows.<\/p>\n
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05\/05\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Forests change color like chameleons<\/p>\n
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The enchantress autumn gives wonders, There are patterns of leaves on the sidewalks. The tops of the cedars in the misty forests are like the masts of a ship sinking into the sea. The sad voices of cranes, like the sounds of an old, creaking gate. They fly in a wedge smoothly and smoothly, Leaving their native expanses of swamps. Autumn forests change colour, Fog, like the hem of a bride’s dress. Caravans of birds, moving away from us, go deep into the desert of the sky.<\/p>\n
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07\/03\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Open-air library<\/p>\n
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It’s an autumn day, sunny and bright, golden leaf fall sweeps the road. A literate wind whispers in the park, someone is reading a forgotten newspaper. It’s like burning manuscripts on a bonfire, weeks and days pass by. Gray shoals of unread books fly away across the seas, waving their covers.<\/p>\n
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15\/11\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The snowstorm sweeps with an invisible broom<\/p>\n
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The darkness howls through the snow flakes, like a wolf trapped. It was as if the crazy winter had torn Its pillow full of fluff. The snowstorm sweeps with an invisible broom, tired eyes have turned yellow. The snowfall makes the room as bright as the white nights in St. Peters burg.<\/p>\n
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14\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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To kiss you on the lips in a dream<\/p>\n
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A deserted night, I listen to the silence, I hear the sound of a drop of dew. Shedding tears, lamenting the time, the wall clock cries In silence. The cicadas ring in chorus, time flows indifferently, like a river. The moon stares at me silently, it’s cheek pressed against the windowpane. The shadow of an old maple tree is outside the window. Which quietly fell to the snow. I want to fall asleep so that I can kiss you on the lips again and again in my sleep.<\/p>\n
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23\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Distant seas<\/p>\n
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I have often bathed in your eyes, as in a boundless, deep sea. You were smiling, covered in tears, looking at me without lowering your gaze.There is salt water in your seas, stars sparkle like salt in them. If you don’t believe the words, then you can taste the tears. Let the stars shine in these eyes and the dawn turns red, giving admiration. Let the tears of joy splash in them, let these seas not dry up!<\/p>\n
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26\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
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Geese squeak with empty buckets<\/p>\n
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Autumn gathers a herbarium of leaves, I walk alone, my soul is light. The janitor silently cleans the sidewalks, monotonously shuffling an old broom. The intoxicating wind roams through the gardens, the ruby beads are bare of mountain ash. Quietly, rhythmically in the distance, in the sky, geese creak empty buckets.<\/p>\n
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27\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Nightingale trills<\/p>\n
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I was traveling north on a night train, and I was lying on a shelf by the window of the carriage. The moon was shining outside the carriage window, and the train was still stumbling along. It was like the carriages were grinding their teeth, the lights of the stars warmed my soul. The clear trills of the forest nightingale could be heard clearly through the cracks of the windows.<\/p>\n
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03\/09\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
Letter to Baron Munchausen<\/p>\n
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Assalamu alaikum, Herr von Baron Munchausen! I am writing this letter to you several centuries late, asking your forgiveness on behalf of all mankind for the fact that we considered you an inveterate liar and laughed at you when you told us how you pulled yourself and your horse out of the swamp by grabbing your hair. It turns out that you were telling the real truth back then, reminding us that no one but ourselves can save us, that is, we must pull ourselves out of the swamp of our passionate desires. Yes, Von Baron, you are right. Life is a terrible swamp and you need to walk carefully through it, with a long stick in your hands, so as not to fall into the bottomless quagmire of sins. Do you remember, Baron, you also told us about how you flew on a cannonball? In fact, you were talking about us then, about humanity flying through space on a globe that painfully resembles a cannonball. Are we really flying on a cannonball, and is humanity really cannon fodder?! Oh, how accurately you described our days, several centuries ago, Mr. Baron! We thought you were a complete liar. You turned out to be the most truthful, honest and wise man on Earth. Forgive us, Baron, for God’s sake, forgive us…<\/p>\n
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24 \/03\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
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Summer meadows<\/p>\n
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A woodpecker taps in the distance, Causing sadness and longing. Caravans of cows go to the river, stomping tiredly, mumbling how good it is to live in the bright world! Poplars ring like cicadas in the silence. In a summer meadow, a brooding wind silently sows dandelion seeds.<\/p>\n
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22\/02\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Shot<\/p>\n
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In the darkness, in the predawn hour, the sound of a shot of thunder. The roar shook the earth and the whole sky, but the thunder missed the target again.<\/p>\n
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04\/02\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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On the eve of autumn<\/p>\n
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In the field, a one-year-old dandelion, gray-haired, Wears its seeds on its head. It has so many of them that sometimes it probably gets their names mixed up. A bird windstorm buzzes over the fields, forming bizarre patterns in the sky. Dandelion fluff flies absent-mindedly, pulsating like jellyfish in the sea.<\/p>\n
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25\/07\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Summer<\/p>\n
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The pines look at their shadow in silence, the day is so tired and timid. Trees have super-powerful roots, curved like a hawk’s claws. The distance trembled in the heat haze, The sea of summer wheat was swaying. The daisies’s eyes widened, probably with delight. The wind blows the fluff and plants it, People are silently swarming in the fields. Cows with bells on their necks, wade through the shallow waters of the river.<\/p>\n
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22\/07\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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A lonely man<\/p>\n
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The fields are empty, the meadow is already mown, the gardens are quietly and absent-mindedly flying around. Autumn froze in surprise and delight, looking into the mirror of the water. — I beg you, don’t leave, autumn, Stay at least for a week, for a day. Don’t leave me alone in the grove, I’m lonely like humanity.<\/p>\n
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08\/09\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Send-off<\/p>\n
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The blue distance, the expanse of meadows, beckons and draws to itself like a magnet. Staggering along the path across the field, a man was walking completely drunk. The hoopoe was crying softly from loneliness, somewhere out there, on the edge of the field in silence. A distant sound echoed it.: «Whoop, whoop, whoop!» Whoop, whoop, whoop! Dandelion fluffs silently flew Like snowflakes in winter. A swarm of butterflies accompanied the drunk man until his house.<\/p>\n
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29\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Moose roam the forests in silence<\/p>\n
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Summer is moving away from us imperceptibly, and the heat is also slowly receding. Swallows gather in flocks — this is My favorite time. A flock of cranes are hurrying south, falling leaves whispers something uninteligible for us. Moose roam the forests in silence, listening to the rustle of falling leaves.<\/p>\n
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26\/05\/2018. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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At the tram stop<\/p>\n
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Mists smoke over the river in the morning, gardens fly around quietly and thoughtfully. A janitor with a torn apron, silently looks into the mirror of the puddle, and the wind is busy with important things, It taxes the trees. We cannot understand the whisper of fallen leaves, The road is strewn with foliage. I caught the last leaf at the tram stop, which had fallen off so that it wouldn’t accidentally fall under the tram.<\/p>\n
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03\/06\/2018. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Escorting cranes to the south<\/p>\n
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There are forest mushrooms on hedgehog needles, and the trails are strewn with fallen leaves. They are spinning, lying underfoot, turning yellow like an old letter. The earth is flooded with sunlight, It’s a fine day, it’s not cold or hot. The screams of cranes creak in the distance, Like empty swings in parks.<\/p>\n
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18\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The lark of the field sings loudly<\/p>\n
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Listening to the songs of the lark, the mower mows the grass, rolling up his sleeves. Moose roam silently through the shallow woods, where the cuckoo likes to crow. The dew shines trembing like tears in the eyes, the mower mows in an old shirt. Fearing for their lives, meadow daisies are waving, trembling. The lark — the steppe nightingale sings. Bursting into a trill, it’s so cheerful. The wind of the daisies is stroking my head, mournfully and quietly, with an invisible hand.<\/p>\n
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14\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Term
\n(In memory of poet Olimjon Matmurodov)<\/p>\n
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No one is eternal in this world, only eternity is immortal. Time marches on the dial, clicking its tongue, nonchalantly. Months and years fly by like a spark, hours run by without looking back. The days come and go quickly, like water skaters over a pond. The second has the shortest term, It’s like a broker’s hammer in an auction. it’s life as a human being is too short…<\/p>\n
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04\/08\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Autumn crops<\/p>\n
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Pedestrians walked along the sidewalk in silence, the autumn weather was getting worse and worse. People walked upside down, reflecting in the puddle mirror. Willows and poplars rustled in the rain, singing a divine song in chorus. The rain outside the window, like a farmer in the fields, thoughtfully sowed rustle.<\/p>\n
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10\/08\/2015.Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The popcorn stars are scattered across the sky<\/p>\n
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The cricket sings restlessly in the garden, the moon gazes intently into the ponds. It froze with delight when it saw it’s pale reflection in the water. Outside my window, in the light of the moon, The leaves of the ringing birches are fluttering. The neighbourhood has fallen asleep and is dreaming, popcorn stars are scattered across the sky.<\/p>\n
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24\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Lost memory<\/p>\n
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Do you remember, my love, as if in a dream, the two of us were walking in the park? A woodpecker was knocking on an old pine tree, The day was fine and bright. Cranes flew loudly in the sky, moose roamed the forests in silence… Why don’t you say anything, don’t you remember anything, autumn?<\/p>\n
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12\/01\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The wind is whistling like a shoemaker out of boredom<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A peasant rides a cart for firewood, A thoughtful forest autumn circles. Loud caravans of birds are sent to distant lands for spring. High in the sky, the cry of a crane, the sounds of falling leaves are heard. The wind that roams the plains like a shoemaker whistling in boredom.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/05\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In silence, with the howl of a blizzard in my ears<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
People in the huts are sleeping soundly, birch trees are wrapped in a snow blanket. The blizzard got lost in the darkness again, icicles on the roof froze tears. The light in my window is still on, like a soul in the snowy twilight. I want to sit by the window until dawn, in silence with the howl of a blizzard in my ears. Waving a dishevelled white broom, a blizzard sweeps the roads and yards. Breaking the silence behind the stove in the crack, a lone cricket sang loudly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Hiccups<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A moonlit night, at the end of summer, the gardens are noisy, autumn is in the air. The wind blows through the courtyards and gardens, shaking the dew off the grass. The mice, flapping their wings, fly Over the roof, greatly surprising the cat. I don’t know what the clock ate too much of, but again, it had a hiccup.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04-07-2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A sign<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn walks silently through the ravines, like a red-haired widow, a thoughtful lady. The bald dandelion crumbles the fluff, the leaves seem to be made of gold and copper. Crane voices are high in the sky, the farewell waltz of autumn sounds. To avoid bad luck, in the pine forests, a woodpecker is knocking on a tree.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The princesses of the swamps sing in the twilight<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon peeks through the windows secretly, the sleepy twinkle of the stars in the distance. The silence is so silent, trying not to accidentally disturb the sleeping fields. The country roads of the village are turning white, the wind is lonely at the gates. A star fell like a golden arrow, where the princesses of the swamps croak.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/03\/2020. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The tide rolls the waves into rolls<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind is staggering drunkenly, the moon is illuminated by darkness over the sea. The shining moon is silently beckoning and pulling like a magnet in the sky. The surf beats monotonously on the shore, the sky is about to drop a star. And the tide indifferently and sleepily rolls the waves into rolls.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/02\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cricket<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the twilight, tearing the silence to shreds, loudly, then softly I sing. By the open window, you’re crying silently, Listening to my sad song… Yes, I died a long time ago, but today I came back to life and returned home like a cricket. I haven’t been able to say a word since, but I’ve been singing loudly over the stove in winter. Can I stay at your cottage? Will you allow me, my love, to sing songs about you, without hiding, behind an open window in the moonlight?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/01\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Roads, like a lifeline in the palm of your hand, are woven by spiders from the web of a harp. The willows stared into the mirror of the pool, where the carp are splashing their fins. A butterfly kisses a daisy secretly, walks through the meadows, looking for something. In order not to scare off the butterfly by accident, silence is silent and does not breathe.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/03\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking out the window, scratched by the rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s cozy and warm in the house, just like in Tashkent, with a home-made bonfire lit in the fireplace. I stare out the window alone, scratched by the cold rain. Rye rustles and sways, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Who are you crying so bitterly about rain, turning the street into a bay with your tears?!..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/08\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Petalstorm
\n(Dedicated to the beautiful poetess Zebo Mirzayeva)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Moonlight silence, words are superfluous, dogs bark, as in another world. In the wind, the white cherry petals fall quietly under the bright moon. A cricket sang about loneliness somewhere, the night is white with cherry blossoms. A swirling white petal blizzard raged outside the window, chalking all night.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Doctor’s report<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We barely have time to see it, The years are flying by and we are happy about it. You see, spring will be replaced by summer, and then autumn, quiet leaves fall. Winter will come with snowstorms again, the gray-haired pine will creak in a blizzard. Then the thaw, the first thunders, the chorus of distant frogs, spring! As wave after wave rolls into the sea, the grass withers and turns green. That’s why you often feel dizzy, comrade patient…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/11\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where the crucian carp splash their tails<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’ll walk along the winding path to the river to fish in silence. I hear a motor ship somewhere in the distance, humming Long and goodbye. The day is gray, a fine rain drizzles indifferently. In the delta of the river, golden crucians are splashing under clear water. Let the sky cry over the river, let the city suffocate in the distance from the smoke. I’ll listen to the whisper of the rain on the shore and the mysterious rustle of the reeds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/08\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn’s answer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They didn’t even notice how June and August were gone, and into the distance, that beckons to where the cacti of the sand dunes are Showing the middle finger. In the sky, birds line up like winged caravans to the south. The fall of leaves whispers in vague words, as if it is delirious in a dream and asleep. There are one-legged peacocks among the trees, molting in autumn groves and forests. The gray flock of cranes leave, With farewell cries to the heavens. Where did the summer go? The question I’m asking is, don’t you know, Missus… Autumn pointed silently to the south, like an arrow of flying birds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/06\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cricket sings loudly behind the stove<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Outside the night window, blizzards howl, Snow sweeps the road and yards. A swarm of snow flakes swirls, Then it hurriedly takes off. It’s time to go to bed, but I don’t want to go to bed, I wish the fields nice dreams. The cricket sings loudly behind the stove, reminding me of the summer days.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter flowers<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The scarecrow began to dance in the wind, where the gray dandelion was bald. Hiding nuts by their cheeks in the woods, chipmunks hungrily stock up on food. A pile of fallen leaves is spinning, quietly, without violating nature’s law. The ferns will bloom soon, the icy glass windows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The evil lightning was pulling out a knife<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cavalry squadron stamped its hooves proudly and boldly, In the sky of thunder. Outside the window, the trees rustled and sang, where the gate creaked monotonously. The rumble of thunder echoed, and an angry thunderstorm bared its knife. The rain began to rustle distractedly and quietly, Like ripe rye in the wind.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/08\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Enterprising birds<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The gardens rustle with fallen leaves, reminding me of the gentle sound of the sea. The water level has dropped in reservoirs, the scarlet maples in the groves are burning. October burned the maples in the grove, roasting the leaves right on the branches. Migrating birds fly high so as not to set their wings on fire.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
31\/08\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Poor trees
\n(Dedicated to the real journalist Vadim Sharf)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You stand along the snow-covered roads, in parks, in gardens and at the gates. Be sad with your families in the bitter cold, like people left without fuel. They froze, shivering by the frozen river, As if the grass were cold in the wind. Don’t you have a stove and didn’t you prepare firewood for the winter?..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/03\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Step over the sky<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain is washing the shop windows, and a thunderstorm is rumbling over the city. Angry lightning, pulling out a knife, Blinds the windows for a moment. The wind plays with the soaked grass, the world is reflected in puddles! Under the same umbrella, my love, you and I will step over the sky.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/06\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Poplars on wooden stilts<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In a transparent mirror pond, the reflection of the moon fluctuates. Frogs snore in a distant pool, let them have magical dreams. The winds have blown away the dandelion fluff, and miracles are happening in the river delta. There are poplars on wooden stilts, wading through the sky.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/09\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Make a noise in the wind, my beloved sea!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rustle, rustly, my beloved sea! Look at how the winds cherish your waves! Let wave after wave run across the field, where the lark trills. Run, oh my golden waves, rustling in the wind, not being afraid of anyone! I’m walking waist deep through the golden running waves of wheat.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/08\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s like you’re going to the river to get water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rowan trees and ruby beads are already burning, Autumn mists are swirling over the river. Geese hurriedly fly away to the south, sadly trumpeting goodbyes. As if they were flapping rusty wings, they are a screaming flock in the distance, or maybe you’re going to the river to get water carrying your creaking empty bucket? It was as if, where we were walking together, admiring the early fall of leaves with you, You were scooping your reflection with a bucket From the mirror of the river along with the water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/01\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
About the butterfly<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You are a book of prayers bound in white, Wandering thoughtfully and more quietly through the meadows. You flutter, you do your own thing, you’re constantly looking for a friend. Although it’s time for you to rest, you’re flying without violating nature’s law. You walk alone through abandoned farms, Where the eyes of broken windows are blinded.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A tired dog barks<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The snow keeps falling, as if in a dream, The Blizzard outside the window is crying and singing. Red light, like honey, pours from the glowing windows onto the snow. The wind, whirling snow flakes, Touches the edge of the old roof. From the snowy gloom, as from the other world, a homeless Dog barks…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/11\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thaw<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon peeks stealthily through the window, She can’t look any other way. Winter is living out its penultimate days, And the thaw is crying with joy outside the window. The trees turn black in the twilight of spring, I sit at the window and listen to the silence. Time drips quietly and monotonously from the clock hands, like tears from eyelashes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Frogs are dying of laughter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Evening has fallen, mosquitoes are buzzing, a freight train rumbles in the distance. One by one, the lanterns are lit, Silently looking into the river from the moss. The reeds rustle sleepily in the wind, and the pond blooms with white water lilies. I don’t know who made them laugh so much, the Frogs are dying of laughter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Horseshoe<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The blazing bonfire of sunset faded away, The golden seal of the sun departed. The meadows have sunk into the evening silence, and the cows in the distance are mowing for a long time. The colours fade in the blue twilight, The frogs on the shore are drowsy trills. There were green scales of duckweed in the delta, Where the flowering water lilies were white. So imperceptibly on the evening sky, Summer hung the Horseshoe of the month. Which shines brightly in silver, For well-being, for happiness.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The skies were deafened by bird noise<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The skies are deafened by bird noise, Autumn is in the yard, winter is far away. The trees in the forests are humming goodbye, the fields and meadows across the river have been harvested. The autumn bonfires are blazing brightly, the Chipmunks are greedily stocking up on food. A broomstick thoughtfully shuffles in the park, an uncooperative gray-haired janitor.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Sobbing Bucket<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn does not close its eyes from the sun, The sail of the spider web on the grass is torn. The day, as the janitor is silent, gloomy, A soft bed is covered with mists. Frost on the fields, winter is just around the corner, Scars in the soul From the crane’s wedge. The fog swirls silently over the river, Then creeps across the meadows, drunk in the trash. The trees and bushes are sad in the fog, Where you go to the river for water, With a creaking, empty, Bitterly sobbing bucket in your hand, grieving for us.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/02\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the pasture<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Silence, like a swan sleeping on a lake, A winged singer sings over the fields. Once again, in the endless, deserted sky, White, curly-haired sheep are shearing. Poplars, like soldiers on duty, Along the dusty country roads. Oh, how lonely this thoughtful shepherd is, In the midst of a herd of harmless cows!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lights of distant villages<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Moonlight, like snow, Crying poor, hungry mosquitoes. Who offended you so much, tell me, Oh, red-haired, uncooperative lanterns? You are like the stars of the boundless heavens, Sleepily twinkling in the blue. Be sad in silence and beckon to you Like the lights of distant villages.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Flight of the white butterfly<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The white butterfly walked silently Through the deserted meadows and fields. The willow tree rustled in the spring wind, the poplars rang white in the grove. A butterfly doesn’t have an eternal life either, every minute is precious to It. She sometimes rested carelessly, Sitting on the horns of sleeping cows. She flew over the autumn road, and other butterflies flew with her. They flew outside the window in the cold, Where snowstorms were buzzing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Hoopoe cries alone across the river<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A lark sings over a rye field, and there is silence and peace all around. As my distant childhood calls, A lonely hoopoe is somewhere across the river. The wind runs nimbly across the fields, Like a lizard on the sand dunes. June dandelion fluff blows in the meadow of silence without disturbing the regime.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn gave me a slap in the face with leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There’s frost on dandelion’s temples, he’s afraid of the wind, he’s going crazy. Dahlias have wilted in the deserted gardens, and a harsh winter is approaching. The migrants are flying south again, and the fog is thick over the river. I don’t know what I did to hurt her, but autumn slapped me in the face with leaves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/11\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A train will hail me from afar<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One day I will go to my homeland, Spend the night at home and wake up at dawn. The winged alarm clocks of the fields will wake me up, trilling. Having made a simple fishing rod out of a stick, Getting lost in the grass like a mower with a scythe, Creaking a bucket, I will go fishing, Across the field, along the path, barefoot, Recognizing me and my delight without melting, Dew will fall from the eyelashes of the daisy. I will close my mouth, which has opened with delight, so that the wasp does not fly in. I stop for a moment in the middle of the field, Listening to the distant voice of the cuckoo. Where a light wind roams in the wild, Where frogs sing in chorus. I’ll go down to the shore, where the butterflies are swarming, Fluttering in silence, the river is rushing and, flying over the Kuiganyars bridge, the train will hail me from afar.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/05\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sunset smiles with a flame in his mouth<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As if the forest is ablaze at sunset, The lobes are quietly sinking into silence. The sun is rolling across the desert of heaven like a burning tumbleweed. The sun is setting over the horizon, in the distance, a crane river Murmurs in the sky. The winds of the valleys are walking across the fields, The sunset is smiling with a flame in its mouth. The empty meadows and fields cannot sleep, The grass is tangled in the cobwebs in the meadow. Fire birds are flying over the fields, I’m silent so that the words don’t catch fire.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/03\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birds fly to distant countries<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s time for the trees to change their outfits And burn standing in the autumn hell. The cicada of silence is ringing restlessly, The late dahlias are wilting in the garden. The wind blows leaves in people’s faces as they walk, shivering thoughtfully. The fallen leaves on the paths lie Like a crumpled letter. The rowan trees are bleeding, lacerations, A farewell bird hail in the sky. Birds fly to distant lands, Like a soul that aspires to heaven.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/03\/2023. 9:15 a.m. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To keep the snow from falling from the branches<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The winter outside is gray and sad, and the cold is getting worse hour by hour. The blizzard does not whistle and does not cry, The icicles have a frozen beard. Winter heals with snowy silence, Snow-covered expanses beckon. Speechless with delight, Nature lost her memory. Keeping her innermost secrets, she is silent, like summer under the snow, So that snow does not accidentally fall from the branches in the snow-covered garden.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/07\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Miracle<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Who told you that this snow can’t talk, mute? Scratching the glass of the windows in the dark, he asks to enter the house in winter. Go outside, where the street lights are boring, With their heads closed, and the snow gently knocks on the umbrella, and speaks softly in a whisper.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/05\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Literate pine<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind and the grass are whispering secretly, The dragonfly is chirping merrily, flying. The willow is afraid to step on meadow spring flowers accidentally.Spring smiles at me with daisies, The smell of grass is in the air. A pine tree reads a butterfly like a book, Carefully holding it in its coniferous paws.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/07\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I said goodbye to my homeland, leaving<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking at my native cotton field, I said: — Goodbye, my homeland. I’m leaving my land involuntarily, I’m leaving, hiding my bitter tears… I remember you, as my own mother, Crying, couldn’t keep quiet. She followed me right across the field, all the way to the state borders. Motherland, I loved you like my mother, And I love you, don’t be a stepmother. I haven’t forgotten about you for a minute, and don’t forget about me, my dear…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/01\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Foggy field<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As in the silence of a clouded paradise, the field fell asleep in an unbroken sleep. The cows, silently, without raising their heads, Graze amicably and peacefully in it. The desolate peace of autumn days, The river snores, the fog breathes. The old woman, calling out in the wild silence, is looking for her Cow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/03\/2016. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Dialect<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the flagpoles of the trees, the yellowed banner flutters again. The golden leaves are spinning, flying, Beating like moths on a flame. The last sheet according to my data. He fell off a branch and floats in the air. I can hear it, softly in a foreign language, The rain is whispering, gushing about something. Some kind of crackling dialect, He’s talking about some kind of king. About Mtsyri, which the princess scratched, In the kennel of the royal kennel.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/06\/2014. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain is drizzling thoughtfully.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As if to quench their thirst, the clouds descended from heaven to a watering hole. An indifferent river is noisily rolling, Washing colourful pebbles. The shores whisper, the high cliffs, The rain drizzles thoughtfully. Beavers are in their teeth with birch branches, Cutting the delta mirror.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/04\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’m starting to think about her again.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Scattered autumn is on the park bench, I forgot the fan of fallen leaves. The thin birches in the grove fly around, the scarlet mountain ash sways in the wind. Heading south through the deserts of heaven, the crane caravan is long and gray. The blue distance beckons them and pulls them towards it, they fly, they fly across the sky like a wedge. Their sad voices melt into the mist, Emptying the expanses of meadows and fields. At the autumn window, without even noticing it, I start thinking about her again.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thoughts float away like wreaths on the Danube<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking silently from the height of the moon, Floods the fields with light and melts. She measures the depth of the spring flood with her gaze. I love the spring floods of the river, the mirrors of flooded fields and meadows. Knee-deep willow trees in the distance, And the drowsy honks of merchant ships. The moon will anchor at the pier, Thoughts float away like wreaths on the Danube. I know you often go to the place where we met to get water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sultry summer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fields melt in a sultry haze, Willow trees crowd in the distance above the pond. I find it hard to believe that they are not people, but trees. A butterfly flutters, in no hurry, The red dragonfly’s gaze is oblique. The cuckoo’s voice is heard in the silence, As if from an old wall clock.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like pedestrians in a snowstorm<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Along the fence, nettles and burdock swayed softly in the silence of the mute. The wind scattered poplar fluff, Absent-mindedly, under the shining moon. The wind apparently got tired of lying down, The poplar fluffs flew weightlessly. The trees stood shivering in the wind, Like pedestrians in a snowstorm.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh, how right you were!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s raining the same way, and the road is the same that we used to walk along. We walked without an umbrella, without even covering ourselves with a plastic bag.You said in a whisper, in unison with the rain, Saying goodbye to me, standing at the threshold, Saying that when you and I walk together, the road ends so quickly… I remember with sadness that look of yours, A sad sigh, tears and words. The road seems endless without you, Oh, how right you were!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/04\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The guillotine<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn silently peers into the windows, Her gaze sad and tired. October red wanders alone through a deserted grove, Rustling with maple trees. The evening birds are singing in unison, And the clouds are already blazing on the horizon. Beyond the fields in the distance, the bloody knife of the guillotine of sunset will soon descend.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
May night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There’s the sound of iron hooves across the river, and there’s not a soul in the deserted street. I would like to drink some water From a bucket of stars, In this predawn silence. The streets are flooded with moonlight, May is wandering with flowering chestnuts. Decorating the silence of the night in the distance, a dog can be heard barking tiredly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lanterns are tired of snowflake flies<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Snowflakes swarm weightlessly, Sweeping boulevards, roads and courtyards. People are sleeping at home with their eyes open, and the lanterns are obviously terribly tired. The river has disappeared from sight behind the fields, Frosted flies fly in silence And no one in the dark with a fly swatter in their hands is in no hurry to swat them.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/11\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain carries water in a sieve<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The brushes of the scarlet mountain ash have turned red, And there is a rustle of fallen leaves in the gardens. The janitor silently cleans the sidewalks, The city breathes the autumn air. A cold fire is raging in the grove, A crazy autumn burned itself out. To put out the fire, the stupid rain carries water in a sieve in a hurry.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a sad time<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cranes are flying loudly across the sky, Over a deserted forest road. To come back again, a living boomerang in the spring. The seasons, like the universe forever, rotate clockwise. The fall of leaves in the garden whispers carelessly, Like a sad and fine rain. Cranes fly, calling to each other, A wedge across the sky in the silence of the deaf. Soon, a crazed gray blizzard Will knock on the windows with snow flakes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/06\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Moon fields<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s like a dog laughing in the twilight, A winged mouse flying across the sky. The stars tremble on the eyelashes of the night, Like the tears of street children. A cricket chirps, goes crazy, Deafening the groves and clearings with its voice. The moon rises silently and slowly Over the minefields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Red moths are curling around the leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn walks alone through the gardens, Summer has imperceptibly left us. The last leaves from the maples in the grove are being torn off by a wandering wind… -Oh, don’t swear, maple, I believe you That there is not a soul in the parks and on the boulevards, The wind is whirling the leaves of the trees To collect them and dry them for the winter. They sleep, wrapped in the mists of the field, Where the cornflowers have closed their eyes. The candles of the trees are burning in the gardens, and red moths are curling around the leaves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/12\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
October is crying softly outside the window<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The city is soaked to the skin without an umbrella, The rain sings a primordial song. His quiet and divine rustle is painfully like a quiet prayer. This, alas, is a harsh law of nature, No one will open the door for you, October. You’re wasting the glass of the rainy windows, You’re scratching so convulsively with your nails.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Salt in the wound<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The snow illuminates the darkness with whiteness, I listen to the rustle of snowflakes again. I do not know who rowan fought with, but blood is oozing from her wound. Roads and paths sleep under the snow, Not knowing what suffering and pain are.Snow grains are quietly falling, Like salt on a rowans wound.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/08\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Summer is sailing away on a crane raft<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The gray-haired dandelion crumbles the fluff So that the wind catches them on the fly. Gray waves run over the water Like a thunderstorm in the wind. Ants stopped working until spring. The spider weaving factory was closed. Across the ocean of heaven on a raft of cranes, Summer sails screaming south.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I love rain, chatter, and lies.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sometimes it drizzles, then it whips noisily, Rustling like birch trees in the wind. Your crocodile tears are trembling and glistening on the window panes. Who are you crying so softly for outside the door, Knocking on the window panes, about the rain?! Although I don’t believe in unsalted tears, I love your chatter and lies.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A home-made bonfire<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter draws patterns on the window panes with its cold breath. The darkness is knocking on the windows with snowflakes, Its whisper is painfully familiar to me. Snow has covered all the roads and yards, and now the trees have nowhere to run. In a blizzard, the frozen red lanterns Scurry around in silence, shivering from the cold. Like a bonfire in a forest thicket, the wood in the fireplace is burning with a bang. As if fighting a duel in the woods in the spring, pugnacious capercaillies are talking.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/08\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Truthful Mirror<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind blows lonesomely through the yards, Moose trumpet sadly in the woods. For the repose of the soul at the grave of summer, Candles of birch trees light autumn. The fall of leaves in the grove is delirious about something, The gardens are getting rid of the gold. Naked trees look with fright Into the true mirror of the water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sky is plowed by a crane plow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A rowan tree rustles in the autumn wind, I lose myself in thought and melt. I love you, autumn red-haired slave, But I don’t know if you love me. You wander around in a burning bride’s dress, Forests and groves blaze all around. An endless field of distant skies, Plowed by a crane plow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/10\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Short circuit<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A thunderstorm broke out over the city, Lightning angrily pulling out a knife. Their brilliance blinded the eyes of the windows, The rain rustled softly and indifferently. Houses, boulevards and parks lit up, In the light of lightning, which was flying. It’s like some kind of welder in the sky, Cutting red-hot metal. Rain heals people’s emotional wounds, Every minute of life is precious. A short circuit flashed silently on trams and trolleybuses on their horns.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/15\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I love the emptiness of autumn fields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind drives the trees crazy, Tearing the leaves off them in the alley. The fog moved like an avalanche, Filling the emptiness of the meadows and fields. The maples have lowered their crimson sails, like ships in a harbour. A rusty carousel creaks in the sky, Cranes flying south. What leaflessness, what nakedness! Autumn tears up her yellow notebook. A drop of hiccups is about to begin, And the rain will quietly burst into tears.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sea<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The intoxicated sea is rustling and swaying, Carelessly playing on the accordion of the waves. Like a singer in a folk choir, It sings proudly with the seagulls in unison. Like a fearless surfer having fun, the Wind rolls without a board on the waves. The water field is wavering, rustling, Like ripe rye, in a crazy wind. Boat cradles swing in the sea, Waves crash against concrete blocks.<\/p>\n
Buffff! -the sea sighs, and the seagulls shout in chorus -clock-clock-clock-clock! Bufff! Klok-klok-klok-klok!..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The paper turned abruptly gray with fear<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I thought that the paper lying on the table looked like snow-covered fields, on a moonlit night, where people, standing still in silence, listen to the trills of a nightingale and couples in love kiss. It turns out that the poor, pale paper instantly turned gray with fear when I began to describe all the horrors of the senseless war in Ukraine, where cities are turning into ruins, hospitals, schools, kindergartens are collapsing under rocket fire, thousands of young soldiers and innocent children are dying…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rainy day<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain rustles outside the window carelessly, He cries, he pours tears of joy. Sometimes, out of boredom, it booms and rhythmically, Tapping on a tin roof. The day looks like an X-ray, Lightning flashes show the arteries and veins. Pensive mannequins stare out at the rain like people from shop windows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/10\/2019.Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A premonition of spring<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon shines dazzlingly, harming no one, silently over the city. Looking at her intently and for a long time, You can go crazy. No, the wall clock is not ticking, It was spring that put a drip on winter. Making the sounds of falling dew, the moonlight silence cries in the darkness. Steam billows like in a foundry, Snow and ice melt under the moon. Melting them all down like lead, the twilight will fill the puddles in their eyes. Time has its legs amputated, but it keeps walking and walking. It’s like I hear the light footsteps of Spring wandering around the city.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/06\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ferry crossing
\n(Dedicated to my childhood friend Erkinbai Batyrov)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sparrows fly in a flock in fright, The sound of wings and rustling is heard. He claps his hands and whistles again, There’s a watchman in the vineyard. Ferries are buzzing on a distant pier, Waking up the silence that sleeps. Cows are carefully on their backs, Ferrying birds across the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/02\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fly, butterflies, without breaking the silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fly, meadows without disturbing the peace, Butterflies, dragging the silence behind you. Don’t be afraid when the dawn turns red across the morning river, like the executioner’s block. Let the dandelion fluff fly, Following you thoughtfully and sleepily. Fly where the white water lilies have spread their roots right into the mirror. Sit on withered trees later, When the winds are weaving thin branches for them. Let the trees rejoice, thinking that they are also in full bloom.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/08\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Spring twilight
\n(Dedicated to the magnificent poet Jontemir Jondor)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The talent of the spring rain is rare, It likes to rustle and make noise. Noisily swaying the branches of the trees, He sings absent-mindedly, creating a duet. Standing on the porch, I listen to his song, Lightning flashes softly on the horizon. It is as if she silently connects the earth with the sky in the twilight.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/12\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rainy street<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain has noticeably rejuvenated the city, And the rain is gray, it looks older. The bus stops, having satisfied its hunger, Crawls further and further away. People deftly enter through the front door in droves and exit from behind. The bus is smiling broadly at the stops, and the passengers are happy.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/06\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Night snowstorm<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The white paper was on the table. He took a pencil and put a dot in the center of the paper and said softly, «How lonely she is in this snowy and deserted paper field!» Then he hastily erased the dot with an elastic band and said again with a sigh: — now the poor girl has disappeared in a blizzard… With these words, he looked out the window, behind which a blizzard was swirling.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/11\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A woodpecker types poetry on a typewriter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The roads and yards are strewn with foliage, The autumn wind scours the fields, And summer recklessly leaves us after completing its urgent tasks. Somewhere out there in the fields in the grove, On an old pine tree, knocking in silence, Like the poets of the sixties in the past, a Woodpecker is typing poetry on a typewriter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/08\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon is shining over a plowed field<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rumble of a motor can be heard from the fields, The lights of the alleys are sad across the river. The red light of the tractor’s headlights is far away, Feeling the gloom of deserted fields.The bare plains of parks and glades, They put on sheepskin coats in the twilight from the darkness.Above the deserted plowed fields. Stupid month smiles.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Angry Rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The noisy bird stations have already subsided, The geese are calling each other on the fly. It’s a good thing they didn’t miss the flight, they managed to fly south in time. Bird caravans are rushing into the distance, the sky is gloomy, the sun is not shining. The rain is drumming softly on the roofs, Then nervously lashing the windows… — Well, flocks of screaming birds are flying away, What are the roads and houses to blame for? Why do you, the rain, cry and lash them with your Watery whip?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/04\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fireman<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the steppes of heaven, birch trees do not rustle, cows do not moo, and grass does not grow. The stars are frozen and shivering from the cold, They don’t have money for coal and firewood. The wind is digging in the tall grass, As if in the wool of Macaque relatives. It throws the sun like a dung evening, Right into the furnace of a burning sunset.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/08\/2016. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mumu
\n(In memory of I. S. Turgenev)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind quietly turns over the waves, Like the pages of interesting books. Gerasim is a deaf, clumsy janitor, he drowned the poor dog in them. The ferry, floating on the evening river, Hums, making sounds: — Moo-moo-hoo! Humming long in the distance, The silence echoes hazy to him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/12\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A rustic evening<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
No one is visible in the Milky Way, The nightingale’s singing and the rolling echo. So that the voice of the nightingale in the grove does not subside, I walk carefully and quietly. There are no screeching brakes and sirens, There are no restaurants and cafes at all. But like a tipsy, intoxicated wind, a drunk wanders the streets.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/04\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Boomerang<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The swallows were sitting on the wires at dawn, Like notes on a musical instrument. Fallen leaves performed a sleepy and thoughtful dance in the gardens. Standing on a slope, autumn threw a gray boomerang of migratory birds. Moose roar in loneliness in the forests, The water in the reservoirs has fallen asleep and is sleeping. The starlings and nightingales will fly back, Don’t be sad, oh creaky, old pine tree! To catch the boomerang of autumn with a swoop, spring will come.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/07\/2017. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A torn parachute<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A woodpecker taps on a tree, On an old pine tree, causing sadness. A stray accordion sounds somewhere, Dew drops sparkle on the grass. Silence doesn’t get mad at anyone, Mists float quietly along the river. The scarlet sunset’s torn parachute descended like a stricken bird.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The escape<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind plays on the accordion of the river, Steadily stretching the folds of the waves. The mirror of the flood shines in the distance, Where lightning flashes with eyelashes. The milk of the clouds runs away, boils, The brooding wind brings sadness. The trees look out in anticipation of the birds, Knee-deep in the flood water into the distance. I’m also waiting for migratory birds, Stick to the birch, don’t be shy! Admiring the spring floods, I go, Having escaped from home again.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/11\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A firm decision<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I will return to my homeland, that’s enough, I will walk in silence along the overgrown path. Let my childhood friend, the blind wind, cry as he feels my face. I will say: — hello, cotton field, my homeland, my parental home! Willow grove, painfully familiar, White poplars, rustling outside the window! I’ll be wandering around the field, at the edge, Where the larks are trilling. Standing knee-deep in the grass, as in paradise, I quietly listen to the cuckoo’s voice. I’ll hug the poplars, which look like birches, And look into the river surface as if in a mirror. And, like spring floods, tears Will flood my eyes…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/06\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Weeping<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In a pond under clear water, They splash like carp in an aquarium. The wallpaper is torn to shreds of clouds, The rain is drizzling indifferently. The pine tree does not hide its resin tears, Autumn is in such a torn dress. The rain is whispering, crying in a whisper, Tears are rolling down the cheeks of the windows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn pond<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The crows have started cawing again, Autumn is quietly walking through the city. Walking alone in gardens and parks, The wind blows the leaves away. Like water skaters, the days are fleeting, People wrapped scarves around their necks. In the pond, as if in an aquarium, you can see carp splashing their tails.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/08\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time walked with a limp<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I don’t know who the rain was crying for, But the droplets, like mindless chickens, pecked restlessly at the window panes and, on the rainy road, the fools. And time limped along, Stumbling often, trying to escape. It was as if his foot was dragging behind him, He was walking and crying, cowering. Ticking with the raindrops in unison, the sound dripped incessantly in the silence. It dripped softly, rhythmically and monotonously, Like your bitter tears on the floor.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/01\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn sadness<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like a crazy stepmother, autumn is driving migratory birds south. Autumn trees are making noise in a grove Where songbirds do not sing. The grove was singing a farewell song, and the squirrel was nimbly climbing the trees. A lonely wind with nothing to do, Collects a puzzle from fallen leaves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/05\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I love the wild primeval fields<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon, like a lonely, pale widow, Stared into the pond, where the reeds rustled. An owl glided silently through the air, Silently hunting a mouse. The lobes were dozing under the starry chandelier, The stacks were sad Under the bright moon. I have to walk home through a deserted field for a long and lonely time. There, beyond the dewy meadows in the distance, a chorus of frogs began to sing a song in the twilight… I love the wildness of the fields, but I didn’t give a damn about civilization.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/06\/2014. Cambridge, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The starry sky above the field<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cotton stalks on the campfire were burning, Sparks flew into the sky like a bullet, Like bees, which, without regretting anything, Jump out of the hive. Brushwood burned with a crackle in the darkness, The flames leaned to the right, then to the left. The eternal and boundless sky was overflowing with the scarlet sparks of the bonfire!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/11\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where the blue-eyed cornflowers grow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In a summer meadow, a gray-haired dandelion absently crumbles its fluff, Which, like snowflakes in winter, is carried away by a wandering wind. Cows graze peacefully and amicably, Where blue-eyed cornflowers grow, A shepherd looks long and intently From the palm of his hand to his forehead on a long road.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fall of leaves whispers mysteriously<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn is walking with rustling leaves, The field is plunged into silence. The trees stand arrogantly in the grove, Like a stupid and naked king. The water in the pond has lost consciousness, and there is an irreplaceable emptiness in my soul. Leaf fall whispers mysteriously like a madman in parks and gardens. The forest is quiet, the birds are not singing, The roads are strewn with fallen leaves. He looks silently to the south from under his brows, the old birdhouse is empty.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
31\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Don’t die anymore<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon’s dandelion flies in the sky, The tears of the stars tremble over the fields. Quietly, the days turn into night, Your black resembling eyes. I’ve been looking for you, calling out in my dreams, Wandering the world like the wind across a field. And you told them to tell me that you have been dead for a long time… Do not rush to fly into the vastness of heaven, You already live and do not die anymore. God willing, I’ll come back to you, honey, Like a boomerang flying around the world.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/12\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
White birch trees rose on the slopes<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The autumn noise of trees in a grove, A scattering of dew glitters on a spider’s web. I’ll give you this necklace, autumn, accept it and wear it well. The sky was like a blue boundless sea, A spider flew on a thin web. White birch trees climbed the slopes To escort the cranes to the south.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rainy July<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thunder is rolling, free-flowing, Light on the ground, causing a tremor. God grant that this lightning does not spread the flame to the rye. The rain is streaming like a fishing line, and the curtains are drawn out of the rain. July is shyly bathing behind a gray, delicate curtain.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
4\/09\/2013. the city of Cambridge, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Afternoon rest<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cows moo long in the pasture, The scarlet sky is blazing across the river. The fields and country roads have quieted down, And there is an evening peace in my soul. I’m standing over a cliff, as if on duty, The landscape is painfully like a dream. The wind is driving an invisible shepherd, A flock of curly waves is heading towards the shore.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/02\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sentenced to death by firing squad<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He walked dejectedly along a narrow path When the people were sleeping soundly. In the moonlight, the Frog choir of the distant marshes sang with abandon. He stopped in silence, mute, The stars swarming like ants. In a deserted grove, under a bright moon, He was shot by nightingales.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/06\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon illuminates the snowy peaks<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the moonlit silence, I walk along the path To the distant lights of my Homeland, Having escaped from a stone bag, From my house, I mean. The moon is still shining with all her might, She’s probably tired, it’s time for her to rest. I see that the poor woman is in the twilight of the night, Looking for a place to sleep in the mountains.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Flying trees<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like pugnacious red cocks, They lose their feathers in a grove of poplars. The nettles and burdocks have withered by the fence, the meadows are empty, the fields have already been harvested. It’s as if feathers are falling off, not leaves, and bonfires are smoking in parks and gardens. The planet «Earth» is suspended from the roots of the trees like a weight. Trees are flying, rustling on the fly, With birds’ nests on the branches. Holding the planet tightly in their claws, they fly through space, fly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/07\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Laughter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Beyond the fields and meadows that sleep, the evening lights in the windows were on. The weeping willow surprises again, In a clear trout pond. The moon fills the room with light, illuminating the well of the soul to the bottom. As if from longing and loneliness, dogs are laughing in the distance, going crazy.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lonely rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sodden garden rustles and hisses, And a thunderstorm roars with laughter in the sky. The rainwater in the puddle boils Like tears of joy in your eyes. The wind whips in the face of passers-by, A knife is bared in the sky. From longing and loneliness for the roof, the rain beats out rhythmically.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thaw<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They fall from the roofs directly onto the asphalt, frozen teeth in winter. The stars want to sleep a little, God, how far they are from us! The primroses have already woken up in the grove, And they are blooming in waist-deep loose snow. Like children, they get tangled under the feet of pines and Snowdrops, not being afraid of anyone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ornithologist<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I hate writers and poets, those who cry when saying goodbye to birds. He writes poetry and prose about birds. And he hides his manuscript from us. Cut down groves and forests by the roots So that the birds have nowhere to land! Don’t let the birds land, In the poplar grove and in the forest!.. I’ll feed you bread crumbs, Watching you, ty’s breath. Fly into the boundless starry sky, my winged bat!..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
5\/10\/2013. Cambridge, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The stars seal the honey<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Crickets are singing in the twilight, The evening lights are lit in the windows. The moon is shining brightly over the fields, Resembling a hunting horn. Bees gather in a giant swarm, Sealing honey in honeycombs, Which pours silently and indifferently from the ladle into reservoirs.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/05\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s not the leaves that fall, but the sadness.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A heavenly orchestra of cranes, Playing a trumpet, aspires into the distance. As if from the branches of autumn trees, Not leaves are falling, but sadness. The sunset is scarlet like an executioner’s apron, The birches are making lonely noises in the wind. The bird voices have stopped in the gardens, the campfires in the boulevards are smoldering and smoking. Gray November is already stomping on the threshold, Water has fainted in the pond. By dressing the road in fallen leaves, the trees themselves in the gardens are stripped.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/08\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mushroom pickers raise skirts for Christmas trees<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The city is quietly sinking into autumn, I listen to the rustle of leaf fall in silence. The leaves rustle like waves in the sea, Thoughts flow like a river into poetry. Magic and miracles reign all around, Sponges swell in the river of clouds. Stupid mushroom pickers are using sticks in the woods, Brazenly lifting the skirts of the Christmas trees.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Competent wind<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The autumn day is sunny and bright, The cranes’ voices melt into silence. Someone left a newspaper in the park, Reading the wind, carefully leafing through it. The fallen leaves are scattered by autumn, Which makes the sullen janitor angry. Leaf<\/span> fall apologizes in a whisper For tearing the leaves off the trees.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
18\/11\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Caviar<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Don’t be shy, rowan, swaying in the wind, looking at the jagged wounds of the sunset. You can hear the cranes creaking in the endless sky as they fly south. Snow will fall soon, a blizzard will howl, and red-breasted bullfinches will flock in to feast on your frozen red caviar for free.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Evening silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Digging in the wool of the evening grass, He is looking for an edible wind Macaque. The blazing bonfire of the scarlet sunset went out in silence, quietly and sadly. A diamond scattering of stars above the roof, Gray fog swirls over the river. In the evening silence, I can clearly hear distant voices and the creak of a door.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees were clothed in quiet mists<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A drop of sobbing outside the window, hiccups, Groves and oak forests in a ragged outfit. To cover up the autumn nakedness, the Trees dressed in quiet mists. Stop washing the window panes, With bitter tears, O vulnerable rain. It’s enough to pour unsalted tears, You can’t bring back the tears of birds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
3\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s evening when the lights turn on in the windows<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind pulls the mown grass from the fields, And the sea of daisies sways. Clean air without wine is intoxicating, Intoxicating summer walks through the meadows. Swaying in the drunken wind, the grass is afraid to drop the evening dew. Sounds and words are out of place here, the moon is numb, it keeps silence. The silence, like a swan on a lake, Lights up the evening in the windows. The uncooperative moon in the evening sky, Silently listens to frogs’ speeches.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
From the shadow of the branches of the trees of the network<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn has forgotten its name, The wind is like a janitor cleaning the sidewalks. In the garden, a rowan tree was thinking about something, Hanging its brushes over a quiet pond. The birds have long since flown across the seas, the sweet clover has faded in the misty meadow. Saying goodbye to the birds at the edge of the field, A scarecrow in an old ragged peacoat. Birds’ nests are already emptying in the gardens, The wind is sad with longing and loneliness, Which weaves nets without threads and knitting needles From the shade of tree branches.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn crumbles the leaves in the woods<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I do not know how this fallen leaf Learned to dance so softly and gracefully. The autumn air is extremely clean, the leaves are crumbling in the forests. Autumn has already taken the birds somewhere, the fog is quietly approaching like an avalanche. Wrapped in a white blanket of snow, Winter will come soon with blizzards. On the wet asphalt made of brand leaves, As if I was the only one left on the planet. Out of boredom in an empty and deserted park, the wind swings sleepily on a swing.It is not the river that murmurs mysteriously in the distance, Where waves run after wave and sing, But the summer on the ocean of heaven, as on a river, sails south On a raft of cranes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Even eternity is not eternal, believe me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Recently, nightingales laughed at night, Cranes danced a waltz in the marshes. The ants tickled the ground with their small feet as they walked in long caravans. Spring was gone, and we didn’t even notice, and we didn’t have time to say goodbye to summer either. Now, the wind is rustling the leaves, The harvested fields and meadows are empty. The roads and houses have already fallen silent in silence, The rain is quietly knocking on the windows and on the door. In this world, even eternity itself is fleeting, not eternal, believe me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cleansing<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees have a paralyzed leg, They have nowhere to run from the fire. Their branches were bare, like horns, And the leaves were lying fried. For what sins, I do not know, but the trees, Immediately, once a year, are obliged to burn the Whole forest, Blazing proudly in the autumn hell.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/11\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The dog yaps lazily across the river<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Don’t light up so much, moon, Deserted ravines, open fields! And don’t go crazy from loneliness, Over the deserted sidewalks of the alleys. Did you shave off your curly hair on your head and your eyebrows and eyelashes? That’s why the nightingale laughs in the grove, Waking up the sleeping lobes at midnight. Poplars ring like a cicada in the wind, A dog lazily yaps across the river. You silently illuminate the roads and fields Where peace and quiet reign. Looking at you until late at night, I probably won’t come to my senses soon. Falling asleep at midnight, I’ll mumble Her beautiful name again in my delirium.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/02\/2012. the city of Toronto, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The abandoned Village<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like nests abandoned by birds, yards empty without owners at home. A star is crying in the sky above the roof, the moon is illuminating the deserted road.An abandoned village, deserted, And a house leaning against the road. A white acacia tree blooms forlornly, Behind an unwashed, low window. It turns out that without people in this world, cities, villages and houses will be orphaned. God grant that, like this village, the planet does not empty itself.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/23\/2015. Brempton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tears of a tractor driver<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Indian summer is over, and now the warm days are over. The wind does not whistle in deserted fields, Disturbing the peace of autumn fields. My bulldozer is rumbling like a thunderstorm, I’m driving and I’m thinking about you again. It feels like there are tears in my eyes, like water boiling in a radiator.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/05\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On a country road under the moon<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the distance, the lights of a distant village, In the silence, the sound of ringing birches. The peasant returned home on a cart, The tears of the stars trembled in the sky. The clatter of hooves, the ringing of bells, the creaking of the wheels of a dilapidated cart. He stopped the unit on the side of the road, He wanted to have a little need. He froze for a moment under a shaggy fir tree, And a nightingale sang in the moonlight grove. They looked at the man, white daisies, Shaking their heads judiciously.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/07\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lanterns rushed into the river<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The street is breathing evening air, The moon is shining, without eyebrows and eyelashes. It’s as if she’s climbing higher, up the steps of invisible stairs. Birches are ringing sleepily in the wind, Which I do not know, it is difficult to understand. There are blue stars in the cornflower blue sky, Sparkling silently, burning like diamonds. There is not a soul on the street, the neighbourhood is empty, the courtyards are flooded with moonlight. As if in desperation, lanterns rushed from a high bridge into the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The neighbourhood was deafened by the noise of birds<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sun had set over the evening fields, And the cows were trumpeting sadly in the pastures. The trees rang, praying in a whisper, On one foot by the dirt road. The sparrows chirped restlessly in unison, Waking up the silence that sleeps. Like a fisherman in a noisy, stormy sea, the neighbourhood was deafened by the noise of birds.It was as if the evening had blown out the candle of the sun, The distant stars, like dew on the grass. All night long in the sublunary garden, A nightingale trilled.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I hear autumn’s tired footsteps<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The weather is cloudy, like a dream, The rain is quietly drumming on the roofs. Like a ripe rye caught in a wandering wind, It rustles and rustles in the street. I hear tired footsteps in autumn, Leaves like the yellowed letters of a soldier Who once died as a young man In a senseless war.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Composer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He sprinkles bread crumbs on the birds, Sometimes he writes something somewhere. In his poems, April is in the grove, Like children looking for snowdrops. Don’t believe me if he says that he writes poetry, it’s not poetry. And the sad cuckoo is moaning far away, In the midst of a sultry summer. Birches, mountain ash and poplars rustle in the autumn wind like waves in the sea. There is a rustle of falling leaves in the parks, There is a desolate silence in the fields. In the groves, trees wave with sticks, Conducting together, leafing through the leaves. A flock of cranes flies noisily over the fields like a gray symphony. In his poems, snowstorms whistle, Which you love and praise. He uses words to write music, Nimbly pressing the keys.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/10\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn Gallery<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Why do I need Venice, Manhattan and St. Peters burg, Why London, Notre Dame de Paris? When the wind is blowing outside the window and the Canadian maple is blazing, burning. Now the golden autumn has come again, I freeze with wild delight at the windows. Maple leaves fall smoothly, This landscape is painfully familiar to me. What a pity that soon, right in front of our eyes, the landscape with autumn maples is wonderful, The gray November showers will wash away With bitter tears from the glass windows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/07\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time clicks rhythmically with its tongue<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am not a king or a dogman, but the sad call of distant, screaming gray cranes. I am the gloomy sky, I am the autumn rain, which pecks the clusters of mountain ash outside the window, where you often look, especially in winter, when the snow-covered distance is sad, where the branches of trees will be covered with frost along the snow-covered road with the crooked huts of villages. I am not a king or a dogman, I am a simple slave to my desires. A slave to air, water, and food. At night, I look like a fish at the moon’s hole, listening to the silence where the wagons rhythmically knock their wheels on the steel spines of the railways. A pounding that sounds like a heartbeat, like the hiccup of a wall clock full of food, called ‘time’… I am not a king or a dogman, I am just loneliness and peace and the lonely silence of old forgotten graves. I’m a lone passerby, drunk in smoke, who forgot the way home. The twilight is illuminated by the moon, like white paper, like snow-covered winter roads, like our September cotton fields. As I walk, my silent shadow lengthens. The trees in the parks are turning bald, as if in a dream, and the leaves are flying and falling smoothly on the asphalt. They are so soft that I involuntarily want to lie down on them and sleep… Let the days and nights go by on tiptoe, and I’ll go into the hut and bolt the door. Let time click its tongue rhythmically, judiciously shaking its head like the pendulum of an old wall clock.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/07\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Angry autumn throws leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Conducting their wings and singing in chorus, the cranes flocked to the south. It feels like a blizzard will howl outside the window very soon. The birds are flying away, and now no one will ever catch up with them. An empty birdhouse looks into the distance, From under its wooden palm.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn cries in unison with the fall of leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The grove was burned down by evil nature, A scarlet mountain ash is burning in the distance. The park is ablaze with crimson maples, The day is flooded with sunlight. The rude wind plays the accordion, Leaning back against a pine tree. Geese fly over the forests, trumpeting, Proudly and smoothly, as if in a dream. The fallen leaves are spinning, flying, The wind will throw them at my feet. Crying in unison with the fall of leaves again, Autumn says goodbye to us in a whisper.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/11\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a pity that the birds are flying south.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn has come, the calendar has not lied, The trees in the grove are singing in autumn. The fog is creeping into the ravine like a plast, What a pity that the birds are flying south. Canadian geese are flying in flocks, Trumpeting over distant forests and fields. I go to the park to listen again, To the rustle of falling leaves for free.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fireplace<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The crops began to fall after slanting rains, Listening to the rustle at the window, I stand. Creaking sadly in the autumn wind, The garden gates sing in the gloom. The loneliness of the rain is familiar to me, The expanse is black outside the window. It increases the shadows on the wall of the house, The flame of the fireplace, like a bonfire in the field.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The mower gets lost in the tall grass<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The mower is sharpening his scythe in the meadow, and the pearl dew has evaporated. A magpie chirps in an old pine tree, and a scythe glitters brightly in the sun. A hoopoe sings in the field, at the very edge, A flock of butterflies flutters over the meadow. It was as if the mower had died and found himself in Paradise, And was mowing grass in another world. In the meadow, mown forget-me-nots lie, Forgiving everything and not knowing any hard feelings. Their gentle smiles and blue gaze are impossible to forget.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/09\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birthday<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sunset bonfire has faded beyond the fields, and the gloomy evening looks harsh. Crickets sang in a chorus in the meadows, The evening mist frowned. Celebrating your birthday, the city That was born in the twentieth year. Iron candles of factories and factories, Gently blew out.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/07\/2019.Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Listening to the howl of the blizzard<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Everything is falling, the snowfall is plentiful, The air is cold, crystal clear. It’s a pity that there’s a scarlet rowan tree under the window, Frostbitten my hands. Winter is grinding like a snowflake mill, A weather vane creaks plaintively on the roof. It’s good to live in a hut on the edge of a village, Listening to the howl of a blizzard.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The lousy wind<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The yellowed leaves are already falling off, the boulevards and parks are empty. The wind is like a janitor cleaning the sidewalks, Crows and jackdaws are screaming in the gardens. The roads are strewn with golden foliage, Thanks to all the trees for this. The cranes flew away to a distant land, Like the thoughts of a drunken poet. Over the river, the mists smoke hookah, The evening whispers with red leaves. Like a bear with its back in a forest clearing, a lousy wind rubs against a tree.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/09\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mouths agape with delight<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Evening lights the buoys on the river, The sound of birds before sunset has subsided. Like paper burned at sunset, The steel tracks rattle in the distance. He whispers in a frog chorus, I hear, Somewhere by the river, the evening distance. The roofs are flooded with moonlight, Where quiet sadness is silvered. The moon illuminates deserted roads, A flock of blind birds flies. Old galoshes are lying on the threshold, mouths agape with delight.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Afternoon<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Meadows are flooded with sunset light, Fields and deserted roads. And in the evening pastures in the distance, Cows moo long.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pregnant curtain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time has no legs, but it walks, limps and runs. And life, like a half-forgotten dream, Is vague, like in a fog of boundaries. No, there are no tired stars burning, It’s the darkness smoking cigarette after cigarette. The windows behind the fields have not yet gone out, The moon is wandering alone in the sky. The fields are white, illuminated by the moon, The wandering wind sighed sharply. It is unknown from whom she got pregnant again, There is a curtain outside the open window.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Cuckoo’s Nest<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The man waited patiently for the gray cuckoo for a long time, looking at the nest, with a long pole in his hands. He waited for her, waited, and finally the cuckoo poked its head out of the nest and sang: Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo! Cook… The man beat her with all his might with a pole and the cuckoo fell to the floor.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/03\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Summer backwater<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Spiders weave bizarre patterns. The willows look into the water and are silent. There’s a restless chorus of frogs in the pool, Lily buds sticking out of the water. Having drunk the dew from the daisies to the bottom, the Drunken butterflies flew all day, No, the butterfly turned out to be one above the water, The other was its reflection, shadow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/08\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter solitude<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We’re sitting together with my shadow, And the darkness is peeking through the snowy windows. Outside the window, the blizzard cries and sings, Going crazy with loneliness. The campfire at home is burning in the fireplace, Winter is sharpening the sword in the blizzard. Let her whistle through her teeth, angry, And I’ll listen to the speech in silence by the fireplace.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Crane voices<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The voices of the cranes reminded me of the creak of an empty swing, on which a lonely wind quietly swings in an empty autumn park, where we walked slowly with you and you said that when we walk together, the road ends so quickly…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s not light that pours out of the windows, but honey.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sky is a ladle made of stars, Scooping up spring water and drinking. It pours onto the deserted sidewalks, Not light from the red windows, but honey. The moon floats across the sky in the distance, Like a white swan on a lake. Like the distant rumble of a tractor from the fields, the Frogs are sleepily babbling.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter in the countryside<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cold seeps into the very bones, The low temperature reigns in the houses. But the authorities are not interested in this at all, it is pitch dark in the huts. Yards and roads are covered with snow, and the grass screeches in the snow. Even the brain in the head, thoughts and words can freeze in such a cold. The frozen people do not take their eyes Off the empty fields, where the wind sobbed. From where the gas is quietly piped, It goes almost free into the distance.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/10\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter evening<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The days have long since disappeared and become more peaceful. The first snow will fall very soon and it will be winter. Deserted fields, roads, and houses will hibernate under the snow. On an empty and snow-covered street, the snow will thoughtfully swirl the snow dust with a sigh and the maddened trees in snow coats will stare at you as if hypnotized. Winter, with its cold breath, will indifferently paint wonderful and wonderful pictures of diamond ice on the windows, when you sit by the campfire at home, listening to the crackle of the fireplace, where the fire is quietly devouring logs. The crackle of the fire will involuntarily remind you of the red-browed capercaillies that duel in the woods in the spring. The firewood in the fireplace will burn with a bang, and you will listen to the howl of the blizzard, thoughtfully looking at the fire. And outside the window, in the light of a street lamp, snowflakes start their magical dance, spinning, as if your thoughts are about her. January will ring young, with a long icy beard on the edge of the roofs of houses. At home, they fall asleep in the frosty twilight, pulling their snow caps down to their eyebrows. The night will turn gray with the first snow. This snow is the first for someone, and it may be the last for someone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Upside down reflected in puddles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn, you’re slowly going crazy, Wandering through the gardens, not knowing peace. The fog drifts lazily across the fields, Curling thoughtfully over the river. A pine tree creaks in the wind, and the city looks painfully like a ship. Autumn, you’re a much-aged spring, Listening to the rustle of the rain in silence. Nothing good is expected of you, the trees need a snow blanket. Jumping from island to island, I walk upside down, reflecting in puddles.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Spring flood<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
April is crying inconsolably outside the window, The train is calling someone in the distance. The streams in the ravines are singing merrily, And the carpet of holes is white with snow. A drunken river opened its veins, overflowed its banks, and lost its mind. The moon can’t take its eyes off the spring flood.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Why did wormwood turn gray so early?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Having created a psaltery out of a thin web, the spider silently plucks the strings. A gopher whistles, standing on tiptoe, Hoopoes wistfully calling each other. An abandoned farm, an abandoned house, a road overgrown with tall grass. Under the criss-cross boarded-up window, Wild wild rose blossoms. In the forest, the woodpecker knocks forlornly, The expanses of the valleys remain silent. Who is the weeping willow mourning, Why did wormwood turn gray so early?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/02\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh, the sea, you’ve had too much!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the bay, you’re rocking a boat on the waves, The cloudy sky is like a ragged sail. The cormorants are screaming at the top of their lungs, You’re drunk, you’re staggering drunkenly. Like a drinking buddy, you don’t even hesitate, Kissing the heavens with waves. What are the seagulls singing together about, Performing miracles on the fly? Waves have risen up against waves, You’re breathing in tides. The sea, stop banging your head on the rocks, You’ve had too much, do you hear?!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/10\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Snow-covered fields<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On a winter night in a snow-covered field, the grass screeched, sticking out of a snowdrift, whipped by heavy snowfall, crying, calling people for help. And people slept soundly in their huts, tightly covered with a white sheet that looked like snow-covered fields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The autumn journey<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn is flipping through its calendar, And the early fall of leaves is whispering in the garden. Migratory birds gather in flocks and fly to unknown countries. They fly, they fly smoothly over the grove, Either crying softly, or singing. Like a switchwife on the road in autumn, she escorts the trains of birds to the south.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wandering lanterns<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The searchlight of the moon shone over the field, The blue twilight breathed freshness. The stars flutter sluggishly with their eyelashes, The soul is flooded with moonlight. The shadows of the trees on the sidewalk are lying, They’ve calmed down, the mosquitoes are not buzzing. Tormented by insomnia, the lanterns sleepily wander along the pavement, shivering tiredly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/10\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The running man<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A man runs on a clay ball, The ball turns like a squirrel wheel. This man can’t live without running, It’s drizzling and fine in the yard. The rain is so touchy and easily hurt, But a person can’t stop in any way. He’s running, running, because someone is chasing him with a scythe in his hands.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/12\/2014. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Admiration<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain stopped, the thunder stopped, The reflection of the trees in the puddle mirror. Deserted roads and courtyards have subsided, And the tired wind needs rest. A seven-colored arc appeared in the sky, Over fields and expanses of swamps. People stared at the rainbow for a long time, As if at the arch of the gates of paradise.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tears of Spring<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The icicles outside the window are crying softly, There is such a moonlit silence all around. Spring doesn’t hide her tears from anyone, She cries softly, like a willow tree over a pond. April is crying inconsolably, and the moon is silent, above the roof and numb. Of course, she feels sorry for April, but she doesn’t know how to cry.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Night Road<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
If you don’t like me, then good riddance, you said. I went outside. The night was moonlit and, indeed, deserted, the midnight road under the brightly shining moon turned out to be strikingly similar to a white tablecloth.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/15\/2023. 12:29 at night. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My homeland is calling me from afar<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s good to live here in the West, that is, There are water meadows here, the air is intoxicating. But my soul is crying like a train in the twilight, Pulling me to my homeland, pulling me. Poplars and willows roar in the groves, Like a river under the Kuiganyars Bridge. It’s like the Motherland is calling me with the cries of a locomotive, calling me from afar.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Absent-mindedness<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wounds of scarlet mountain ash are bleeding, In an autumn grove of crows. Birds fly to distant lands, Joyfully shouting, as if to paradise. The spider weaves hammocks from yarn To give them to flies and butterflies. Autumn wanders around, not even noticing How her dress is on fire, burning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The summer is gone, without looking back<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fallen leaves dance together, Then they cry, then they sing joyfully. The dispatcher spends autumn noisily, Migrating birds flock to the south. People walk as if on a knife’s edge, Leaf fall leaves cover their tracks. A fire is burning in the groves and gardens, Which does not harm anyone. The wind plays on the accordion of the waves, The leaves tremble like tears on the branches. Like the British, the sultry summer is gone without looking back.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Help<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Snowflakes are spinning, flying, Wherever their eyes look. I go to my friends for help again, shivering In the bitter cold. I am a kind person and I will never leave my friends in trouble. Especially on harsh days, when they are in dire need of food. Taking a drill and chisels with me, I hurry to the riverbank.To lower the fish’s food into the hole with the help of a fishing line…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/09\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Waiting for spring<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I keep waiting, but for some reason spring doesn’t come. Maybe she got sick, or got hit by a train. What if an old, creaking cart got stuck in the mud as it was joyfully driving along a country road? Or, the cart tilted sharply to one side due to the fact that one of the wheels fell off and, leaving the road, it rolled into a ravine… That’s why the crooked icicles cry on the edge of the roof in the moonlit silence…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/05\/2023.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Spring rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I walked straight to the shore alone, poplars and willows swaying in the wind. Then, turning the asphalt into marble, a sudden downpour swept over. Rolling thunder rumbled in the sky, and lightning flashed wildly in the distance. Behind the curtain of rain, people on ferries screamed for help on the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind picks at the grass<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn collects gold taxes, Ripping off groves and gardens before our eyes. The roads are strewn with fallen leaves, and the summer days are behind us. The janitor is angry, the campfire is smoking, and the parks and gardens are in disarray. Trees are afraid of the harsh winter, Looking into the distance in a tattered outfit. The wind is digging in the grass, whistling, Hoping to find something to eat, Like a kind monkey looking for Fleas in its relatives’ fur.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/05\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain repairs the roof for free<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I don’t have to get bored with autumn, I can hear the divine sound of rain. The rain is pattering softly and absently on the tiles, repairing the roof for free. There is a whisper and a rustle outside the autumn window, an unbiblical flood on the street. The city is ready to swim and even drown itself in the salty tears of rain.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Deserted night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The stars froze in the sky from the cold, Sharing their warmth with each other. The birches froze in the moonlight grove, listening to the trills of a lonely nightingale. The lights of the buoys lit up on the river, the sky like a huge hornet’s nest. It’s not like crickets are singing, but in the distance, the police are blowing their whistles.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Indian summer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The city is smoking in the distance, suffocating, How good it is that it is far away. The rustle of birch leaves, the rustle, The willow trees bent silently over the river. A hoopoe sighs at the edge of the fields, Cornflowers in the meadows beckon. The water fainted in the pond, and the bell of heaven fell silent without a tongue.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saying goodbye like a steamboat to the shore<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The nightingale has long been silent in the gardens, the branches of the maple tree outside the window are bare. A man looks out of the window at the street Like a songbird in a cage. Willows stare into the mirror of the water, Lonely moose roam the forests. The screams of cranes creak in the sky, Like the wheels of an old cart. The leaves are rustling like waves in the sea, October is already on its heels. The woodpeckers are burrowing with fractional knocks, They are dozing sweetly, they are snoring in unison. Songbirds don’t sing in the woods, And there’s a farewell dance in the gardens. Cranes leave in caravans to the south, Saying goodbye like a steamer to the shore.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The coast couldn’t save itself<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Let time walk indifferently, limping to the beat of my heartbeat somewhere towards eternity, and I will go ashore to listen in silence to the noise and rustle of green reeds under a fine drizzle. Where the shore, washed away by the spring flood, could not save itself.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Palmistry<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The last leaves are shaking in the wind, They are frozen from the cold, They are cold. The janitor obscures the townspeople by stepping on a rake by accident. The harsh winter is getting closer and closer, the trees are like molted peacocks. Empty roads, like a lifeline, In the palm of the autumn plains.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/11\/2014. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Geese were flying in the snowy twilight<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Belated geese flew at random, Through a snowstorm, high above the roof. I could hear their sad laughter In the snowy gloom, Through the rustle of snowflakes. They flew anxiously and loudly, Giving creaky, sad voices. The blizzard whistled, whirled and sang, Tearing the white sails of the trees.The snow-covered fields were lost in the distance, as if in an impenetrable and gentle fog. They flew here and there and cried, Poor geese in the snowy twilight.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/09\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The gate flaps with wings<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The leaves are falling, the gardens are thinning, and summer has gone south with the birds. The reflection of a willow tree in the mirror of the water, The wind ripples absent-mindedly. The janitor was picking up his broom again, and the Fall of Leaves in the grove was praying in a whisper. Like an inexperienced chick in the wind, the gate flaps with its wings. I’m listening to the noise of the trees again, And I can’t get enough of it. Deer roar in the woods like a wild man lost in the wilds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wealth
\n(Dedicated to Uzbek billionaire Alisher Burkhanovich Usmanov)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
(Alisher Burkhanovich said: — I am proud that my ancestors are Uzbeks, and Uzbek blood flows in my veins.)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They say that sometimes the rich also cry Silently and inconsolably. Tears that look painfully like diamonds are hidden from the eyes of outsiders. It’s not difficult for Alisher Burkhanovich to buy islands in Hawaii. But the friendship of nations is more important to him, Byron, Pushkin and Navai are more important. The most priceless wealth is Our sunny Homeland across the seas. Native shores and wandering winds, The trills of a lark over the fields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/10\/2014. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birch trees weave patterns out of shadows<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There are sonorous songs over the meadow of the lark, the scythe whistles monotonously and rhythmically. Dew falls softly from the daisies, like tears from eyelashes. Winds are blowing across meadows and fields, and ants are marching in long trains. Hookah smokers smoke over the river of mists, and the smell of mown grass is in the air. The expanses of fields melt in the haze, Where blue-eyed cornflowers bloom. Birch trees in the wind are made of delicate shadows, They weave intricate patterns.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn Park<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The autumn sun doesn’t warm you up, the air is so thoughtful too. The birds’ sonorous trills are not heard, The soul finds peace in silence. There is a round dance around the trees, a quiet dance, a farewell waltz. It’s like autumn is spending birds in the south, Silently, longingly looking into the distance. The sight of half-naked trees is pathetic, frosts and snowstorms are just around the corner. Going crazy from loneliness in the park, The wind is swinging on the swing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Puddle<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the sky, lightning pulls out a knife, Goes under the umbrellas of the old and young. The rain washes the road with tears, The wind furrows the river surface. It was an accurate hit, not a miss, and the thunderstorm turned out to be a good shot. A piece of the sky from the thunder shot fell off right in front of my eyes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Slightly lifting the veil<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rowan’s hands were very red, Like an injured hand in the cold. Outside, the wind is crying and whistling, puddles are already covered with thick ice. There was frost on the trees, frosts were ringing, And the moon shone silently through the branches, Like a lady who was looking at me, Slightly lifting her veil.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Summer evening<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birds’ nests are blackening on the willow, a tired gate is yawning widely. Flying over the village, the red star fell directly into the swamp. The moon is silently shining over the roof, A white silence has fallen on the fields. Moonlight twilight can’t hear anything, He’s deafened by the song of the cricket.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn wanders thoughtfully along the boulevard<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The leaves are falling like stars from the sky, Probably the earth is pulling them towards itself. Cranes, raking the air with their wings, Float across the boundless ocean of heaven. The gloomy sky is already frowning, The north is threatening heavy snowfalls. And autumn is quietly wandering along the boulevard, A fan made of fallen leaves in her hand.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/01\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is a giant fireworks display of stars in the sky<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is silence and peace in the night sky, Where God is alone, silently living. Look at the endless skies. Blue giant fireworks of stars! A cricket singing in the twilight, Snoring in a chorus of froggy night. There are shadows on the wall of the houses, and I can’t overcome my delight. The stars cry silently until dawn, There is no way to comfort them. The poor lanterns have forgotten how to speak, Like on a deserted savage island.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Running<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I saw with my own eyes how poplars and willows ran across the plains and slopes on one leg. Poles, road signs, houses and roads, stone bridges, misty meadows, horses, cows, field camps, mulberry trees, cotton fields were running. They ran after the train, saying goodbye to me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Bonfire on the high shore<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The winds of the valleys are already blowing thoughtfully, the South is full of migratory birds. The deer trumpet sadly in the distance, The cries of the cranes melt into the fog. In a quiet backwater, cattails and sedge Rustle, The reeds grow like a wall. It’s lonely on the bank of the Vysokoe River, a scarlet rowan tree makes a bonfire.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On a dusty road in the evening silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the fields, the silence was speechless, The sunset bonfire had already died out beyond the fields. The evening froze, descending without a parachute, Like a sapper stepping on a land mine. Cows come home from the pasture in a slow, unhurried caravan, mooing with long, drawn-out steps, Kicking up dust along the country road.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is a round lavash in the sky of the moon<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Evening descended with a parachute of heaven, Interrupting the birds’ incomprehensible speech. In silence, the cricket is a lonely singer, heals the wounds of the sunset. The herald frogs of spring are singing, And the moon has a round lavash in the sky. Flashing a green forest traffic light, An owl sighs deeply In the gloom. Without lifting the hem of her skirt, a birch tree stands knee-deep in the sky. The mirrored expanse of the spill is fragile, Where the swan sleeps on the white moon.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rattling empty buckets of thunder<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Icy udders of icicles hang on the edge of the roof… And there, rattling empty buckets of rolling thunder, is a slender, young milkmaid, Spring. Soon the murmuring streams, ravines, meadows and fields will be drowned in the fresh milk of morning mists.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Through a blizzard of flying birds<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The harsh winter is getting closer and closer, Birds are flying away to distant countries. A red-haired leaf fall is raving in the park, Where a swearing janitor can be heard. The outfit of the trees is thrown under his feet, The field, covered with mists, sleeps. Autumn recklessly leaves us, Through a blizzard of flying birds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/10\/2019. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fishing in the rain
\n(Dedicated to Hunter Oljabai ake)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A fine, drizzling rain is falling, Monotonously tapping on my hood.His rustling is more like a whisper, Whispering is not prohibited here. As soon as I throw my fishing rod into the sky, the Float starts dancing merrily. The fishing line is pulled backhand by the fish, How well it bites in the sky!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn lull<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the gardens, the rustle and whisper of leaf fall, Autumn fatigue, silence and peace. Looking into the distance, there is no need to be sad, Let the fog swirl over the river. Fluffy cotton wool floats on clouds, The smell of silence, like the smell of books that I used to delve into in the library.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/08\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Distant Spring
\n(Dedicated to Kahor, my childhood friend)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Those distant days melt away in my memories like a snowman in the sun in early spring. I remember icicles falling off the roof and falling to the ground, breaking into pieces like a crystal chandelier falling from the ceiling. On the roof of a neighboring house, whistling with our fingers, we chased pigeons with my childhood friend Cahor, and the pigeons flew high into the air, tumbling merrily under the white clouds. Cahor didn’t know that I loved his little sister, and when I met her, I froze, lost the power of speech, and melted away from her gentle smile, melting like a snowman in the early spring sun.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cornflowers of distant stars are blooming<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Outside the open window, the Crickets are going crazy and singing in a chorus. The pensive moon is leaning against the window, Flooding my room with light. The night slumbers in silence, like a swan that lives with a swan in a pond. The blue cornflowers of distant stars are blooming in a deserted and cold sky.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To drink your reflections<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A horse is grazing in a meadow, beating off flies with its tail, not in a hurry. I stop to listen to the tinkling songs of the lark in the silence. And on the dusty country road, the tracks of numerous hooves. Apparently, the cows went to the watering hole To drink their reflections.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wandering lanterns<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The searchlight of the moon shone over the field, The blue twilight breathed freshness. The stars flutter sluggishly with their eyelashes, The soul is flooded with moonlight. The shadows of the trees on the sidewalk are lying, They’ve calmed down, the mosquitoes are not buzzing. Tormented by insomnia, the lanterns sleepily wander along the pavement, shivering tiredly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/10\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cranes perform a dance in the fog<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cranes scream, not afraid of anyone, Before flying to distant countries. They’re like ballerinas, waist-deep in the grass. They perform a dance. A flock of fog sheep at a watering hole, As if the south is turning into the north. Cranes flap their wings, which look like a fan.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Lonely Ant<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fireball of the sun was rolling down so far, the day was as tired as a beetle. Embracing half of the sky at sunset, the distance is quietly burning, flaming. The expanses are flooded with sunset light, The evening dew sparkles on the grass. Oh, my anthill homeland, you are far away, I am your lost ant!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A belated pedestrian
\n(In memory of the great Russian film director Eldar Aleksandrovich Ryazanov)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is a rustle of snow outside the night window, a blizzard sweeps roads and yards. The city is knee-deep in snow, the slouching lanterns are drowsily lost in thought. The shadows of the trees on the snowdrifts are lying, The snow outside the window is falling and falling. He walks like a whitened miller, shivering, a drunken pedestrian, belated. Snowflakes are flying and a blizzard is blowing, Like a lost winter. The light from the windows pours onto the paths, the houses look similar to each other.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Summer rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cuckoo has already stopped crowing, The stormy wind is gusty and humming. The scarecrow dances, waving his sleeve Like buffoons, court jesters. The rye sea was swirling in the wind, And I was walking alone in waist-deep rye. The birches on the slope looked into the distance, Proudly, not afraid of the roar of thunder. The wind was still driving rye waves, And across the field, merrily, without regretting anything, lightning struck, and carts rattled in the sky. It was like dynamite exploding in the sky, and the wind was shaking the branches of the trees. Interrupting the rumble of thunder for a moment, the summer rain began to rustle softly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Unsuccessful capture<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sleeping trees and fields dream of silent silence and peace. The stars are shining so close that you can touch them with your hand. I caught a star dancing a waltz, It jumped from palm to palm and slipped through my fingers, Along with the clear water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Touching the sky with your head<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sunset faded, evening fell, Stone bridges over the river arch. The moon is shining silently over the city, the boulevards and parks are already empty. Swinging softly over the waves in the distance, Touching the high sky with his head. I wish I could sail on a raft down the river to where Tashkent is sunny.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The owl’s response<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sky was strewn with diamonds of stars, and the willow trees rang like cicadas in the wind. Forests were reflected Under the bright moon, In the transparent mirror of the flood. I quietly asked the owl if the sheep of the mist were grazing in the meadow. The owl rose into the air, then answered briefly: — Uh-huh!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/08\/2016. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An important guess<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is a snowstorm outside, a snowy night, The light went out again and I lit a candle. It’s cold in the house, the crickets have stopped chirping behind the stove. Spiritually satisfying hunger by reading, The whole family is shivering from the cold, scurrying. I think that’s where the terrible cold is coming from, it turns out that it’s blowing from the stove…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn is like a sapper stepping on a landmine<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a dreary autumn weather, the grass is running and crying in the wind. Over the fields, geese, cackling sadly, Fly to unknown lands. The wind blows the leaves away, The Forests are like a flame in a fireplace. Autumn froze outside my window, Like a sapper stepping on a mine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s snowing in the silence of the night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter is falling in large flakes, Sweeping yards and roads. They stared sleepily into the snowy distance, through the glowing windows of the house. The evil blizzard outside the window does not whistle, Wandering through the narrow corridors of the streets. The snow is falling quieter and quieter So that people don’t wake up.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/11\/2014. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Fortune Teller<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The colours are turning yellow on the autumn palette, and people are walking dejectedly along the sidewalk. The fallen leaves are dancing thoughtfully, On the outskirts, at the openwork gates. Throwing leaves at your feet in the grove, Why cry and sob now? Isn’t it too late now, oh fortune teller autumn, to guess the fate of the palm of a maple tree?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Outside the winter window<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The grove was wrapped in a blanket of snow, and the sky was covered with a misty haze. The sparrows look out from under the eaves listlessly, At the snow as if it were bread crumbs. Each snowflake is like a white bee, The rowan has a scarlet brush. Did the janitor leave a rake On the paths of the park yesterday?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/10\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Willow Tree<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I thought I was crazy, There was a willow tree over a clear pond. She seemed to have discovered something, Staring into the water silently. It turns out that he sank the evening Into the pond in the blue twilight of the moon, Like Gerasim, who once drowned the poor dog «Mumu» in the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rain is absent-mindedly playing on the harp<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Nothing good is expected from autumn, The rain is absent-mindedly playing on the harp. People walk silently, like horses in a yoke, wrapping scarves around their necks. The streets are flooded with rainwater, and mosquitoes have stopped flying through the air. Silently watching people in the rain, The street lights began to reflect.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/12\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cranes fly in non-flying weather<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the sky, like a long train, Like the months and years we’ve lived, Where are you cranes flying in a wedge, In such flightless weather?! Autumn bonfires are smoking in parks, And birds are waving goodbye in the distance. Scarlet maples are rustling in parks, Autumn has put on a veil of cobwebs. Winter will soon arrive on a white horse, With frosts and snowstorms. By the time the bears hibernate, fields, roads, and houses are covered with snow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/07\/2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sleeping under a snow carpet<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter moths fly, They flutter, driven by the wind in the snowy twilight. The clang of the gate in the wind does not stop, The dog is wearily barking somewhere. A carpet is being laid out of the snow on the fields, a blizzard that is crying and angry. The snow-covered trees are probably dreaming of green spring right now.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The birch tree is rustling outside my window<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The pond sings frog songs, The Owl glides through the air, flies. A local breeze weaves under the moon, Nets From the shade of trees. Silver light pours from the moon, Through the window glass into the house. In the moonlit silence, the white birch tree outside my window is making absent-minded noises. The candle of the moon in the sky is burning out, The deserted night is white. A stray dog is barking wistfully, Somewhere out there, on the edge of the village.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Regret<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The chorus of frogs silently listens to summer and the cricket that lives in the jamb. In the sky, a star tanned somewhere, Fiery, like a dragon’s tail. You are frozen, covered with ice, I sympathize with you, oh, mute moon! But I can’t let you in the house, my wife is too jealous.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thunderstorm<\/p>\n
(To Khurshid Ziyakhanov)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The bell of heaven sounded the alarm for a long time, The rain turned the street into a bay, The green bed of spring cracked, The spring fields woke up in the distance!.. The rain rustled, the wind rustled, The sun shone, the soul is light. Transparent glass that has fallen from the sky glitters like a mirror on the street.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/09\/2013. Canada.Cambridge city.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Angry autumn throws leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Conducting their wings and singing in chorus, the cranes stretched out in flocks to the south. It feels like a blizzard is going to howl outside Sedaya’s window very soon. The trees are ablaze as if on a bonfire, The cornflower blue beckons them from heaven. Angry autumn throws leaves, A wedge soars into the gray sky. There are intricate patterns on the thin web. The garden gate creaks plaintively. The birdhouse is empty, blurred eyes, Looking into the distance from under the palm of your hand.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Island of Solitude<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the twilight of the moon rise, I waited, The night whispered sleepily like frogs. The eyes of the windows stared into the distance, Chasing their dreams away. A lilac bush was in bloom outside the window, And forests were black beyond the distant fields. There were shadows on the wall of the house, and I could hear a stray dog barking. At the open window, I was thinking about you, The cricket was crackling, the darkness was dozing. The moon was white in the boundless ocean of heaven, Like an island of solitude.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where the water lilies and lilies bloomed<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The brooding August is at the end of summer, The water in the pond has already lost its memory. Brushing the grass without a comb is the wind, Busy with its important business. Quenching their thirst at the watering place, the horses drank their reflections in silence. Where snow-white water lilies and lilies bloom, quietly opening their buds.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cracks of Heaven<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The garden is flooded with rainwater, Where the grass stands on end like hairs. I silently stare out the window at the rain, Like a fish in an aquarium. The lightning bolts, showing grins, Hacked each other with a knife. Thunder deafening peals, Clouds got burned by lightning. The melody on the harp is played solo by the Rain, softly dropping the tears of the brides. I managed to see the blue cracks of the sky in the light of lightning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Octopuses<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The gate creaks softly in the wind, The trees in the gardens are dropping leaves. The courtyards are flooded with sunlight, Swallows are not visible on the waterfalls. My soul is like a bird in a cage, I listen to the rustle of falling leaves. Like octopuses biting hard, Trees with tentacles into the ground.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/09\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Matches<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Now almost everyone uses a lighter. You click it, and immediately it starts teasing you, sticking out its fiery red tongue. It’s a pity that wooden matches have disappeared from store shelves, turning into museum exhibits. Now many people probably yearn for them and for the smell of burning wood. It used to be much easier. He took a match, struck it, and the sticks lit up. They burned brightly, illuminating the darkness for a moment and quickly fading away, like a human’s life…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/12\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn mushrooms on hedgehog needles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Dandelion fluff crumbles meadows, Which are blown away by the wind.Early leaf falls in mountain ash and groves, Indian summer is already at the end. I’ll go to the park, stop lying, It’s a thoughtful, wonderful time. Autumn mushrooms on hedgehog needles, Sad knocks of a woodpecker in the woods. In the draughty forests, trumpeting mournfully, moose are calling each other. The mists are lazily swirling over the river, Autumn is quietly creeping up.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Leaf<\/span> fall whispered softly in my ear<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
There are knocks in the woodpecker forest, Volcanoes of bonfires in parks are smoking. The fallen leaves in the gardens are out of boredom, Whirling in the wind and making sleepy noises. Autumn is already running out, and winter is getting closer, Creeping up stealthily and quietly. Red leaf fall whispered in my ear about this in the garden.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
16\/16\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh seagulls, who are you crying for?!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sea waves rock the boat Like gray-haired, kind nannies. And the seagulls are screaming at the top of their lungs, The water expanse is staggering drunk… — Fighting the storm, as in the era of Noah, Drowned where, on what ship?! Oh seagulls, deafened by the sound of the surf, Are you crying so bitterly for whom?!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Night of Separation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There are moths in the garden for the holiday, I lit the candle quietly and carefully. The candle began to tease me, Sticking out its fiery tongue. The trees stand shoulder to shoulder, the stars twinkle in the desert of heaven. God grant that I do not put out the candle, Sighing, my love, about you.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/05\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Carrying a candle holder in the desert<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An unshaven man, seeing his double in the mirror, froze for a moment, discovering his resemblance to a cactus. Then I started thinking about the deserts of Arizona and Mexico, about prickly cacti, like exiled poets who, with candlesticks in their hands, climb the dunes and look into the distance, where smooth birches and poplars grow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Seagulls peck at the manes of the waves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The clouds of salience hide from us, The life we have lived is like a dream, Seagulls cry loudly over the sea, Pecking at the manes of the waves. The waves, like purple petals, Form intricate patterns. Your name, written on the sand, Drowsily and indifferently washes away the sea.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The yellowed notebook<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fallen leaves, like birds in a flock, Fly around the yard, spinning in the morning. The fall of leaves in the gardens is absentmindedly leafing through a yellowed notebook. The spider has already stopped knitting without knitting needles, The wind is tearing the cobwebs on the grass. Summer left, emptying the stations of birds, On a crane train.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/07\/2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The stars froze from the cold<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Frost shines on the late dahlias, And the wind whistles indifferently in the groves. The heart is like the last, quietly fluttering leaf hanging on a thin spider’s web. There are black spots on the trees of the park — these are nests abandoned by birds long ago. High in the sky, above the fields, a star froze from the cold. The stars do not know how to make a fire, Shivering from the cold, they promise good luck. By rolling a cigarette out of a newspaper in the dark. They smoke shag, they smoke nervously.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The mower returns home wearily<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sunset faded quietly behind the scarlet fields, The forests, oak forests and forests were black. The fog has fallen on the fields and meadows, tired, And the expanses are flooded with moonlight. The sublunary grove is drowning in silence, A field bindweed blooms by the road. In the evening meadow, horses are talking to each other, nodding their heads. A horse walks under the shining moon, Where the rural roads were white. The mower wearily returns home, Sitting silently on the edge of the cart.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/05\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The nomads<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Empty swings are sad in the fog, I wander around the park, my soul is light. The janitor is silent in a torn sweatshirt, swinging a broom steadily. A nomad mist roams the meadows, Gray, silent, old and gray-haired. He has no place to live, spends the night in the fields, Sleepily and lazily swirls over the water. He crawls slowly, wanders the streets, Silently floats past the windows. Strangely enough, we’ve also been wandering from town to town like him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/05\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Compassion<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon turns pale without hair and eyebrows, Like a drug addict who was killed by mephedrone. Mosquitoes kiss people until they bleed, They don’t know how to love in any other way. The clouds in the sky are torn to shreds at night, Where the moon wanders forlornly alone. Sparks of stars fall in the twilight, Illuminating the soul to the very bottom. You’re like drug addicts on a needle, pale as streetlights. When playing the violin, don’t cry in the dark, Oh poor, bloodthirsty mosquitoes!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/06\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Meadows secretly kiss butterflies<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A willow tree is swaying in the passing wind, and Ground Squirrels are greedily stocking up on food. Where, silently saying goodbye to the fluff, the gray dandelion flies quietly. A lark trills loudly over the field, The sky is like an arc ringing with bells. The grain is ripe in the fields, And the meadows are secretly kissing butterflies.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Insomnia of street lights<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Blue forget-me-nots are blooming everywhere, They look at the snow with surprise. The mutt in the doghouse barks, Muffled, as if in a dream. Distant lights are melting in the twilight, Frost is silvering on the trees. And I long for the air, where the Smell of burning wood is floating. How far apart you and I are, The snow-covered streets and courtyards are sleeping. In the moonlight twilight on the old pavement, The insomnia of the streetlights.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cows mooed like ferries on the river<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The horses went to the evening watering place To drink, To quench their thirst. Mosquitoes buzzed in a roving swarm, The evening silently churned up the shoe polish. Raising a cloud of dust in the distance, Cows returned home in caravans, Humming longboats and ferries, as if on a river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/04\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees stiffened in horror<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn flew south with the birds, and the winter skies hunched over. The blizzard is powdering the neighbourhood with snow, and winter is howling in the groves and forests. The river snores under the thick ice, the snow-covered meadows and fields turn white. When they saw me with an axe in my hands, the Trees stiffened in horror.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/09\/2018. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The saddened eyes of autumn<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birds are flying like angels together, The last leaves on the branches are trembling. Birches gaze thoughtfully into puddles, Like autumn into saddened eyes. A swarm of fallen leaves is spinning, I hear the crying of dried grass. The rowan tree is scarlet, like an evil ruler, Whose hands are up to his elbows in blood.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/10\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Someone else’s face<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A man came home from work in the evening, Before going to bed, was very surprised, looking in the mirror and whispered: — I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Then, leaning forward slightly, With surprise, his delight not melting, he said: — Oh, isn’t the mirror lying? Oh my God, is it really me? I’ve aged exactly a century, God! He’s bald as a pumpkin, and his eyebrows are streaked with gray… No, he doesn’t look like me at all, he’s probably our neighbor…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Air kisses<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’m sitting alone in an autumn park, On a rickety bench, in silence. The trees are rustling, the day is bright, It’s a sin not to write poetry. And as you guessed, yes, over the forest, Cranes flew in flocks, screaming. They cried and warned in unison that snowstorms were coming. Following the cranes, I see the Poems, like a paper squadron, rising in the wind To fly away, Spreading their paper wings. The rosehip will blow smoothly, Its last petals. They are silky -gentle, like your distant kisses.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/03\/2015. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Waiting for the locust invasion<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
If you only knew how much I love locusts and I can’t wait for their invasion! I’m happy as a little boy, looking at their buzzing swarm that covers the endless sky outside my window. I look at the uncooperative pedestrians who walk along the sidewalk in hats, through the insane swarms of white locusts.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/09\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The creaking doors smile softly<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Diamonds of stars are shining above the roof, The sky is bent over the world of the arc. In the distance, frogs are raving, I hear evening meadows dozing under the moon. Ripples run across the surface of the pond, Birds’ nests turn black on the willow. The moon was cold over the fields, it was cold, Somewhere out there, in the distance, a star fell. The wind is swinging on an empty swing, And crying softly, but I don’t believe it. Creaking doors smile at me like people in the twilight of the evening.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Old age<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The foliage does not want to part with the branch, And the wind ruffles the branches of the trees. Let the fall of leaves mutter softly to itself, I do not intend to interrupt it. Honking pitifully in the distance, the steamer says goodbye to the shore. The boulevards and parks are already bare, The dance of fallen leaves is rustling. I thought — an old man under the autumn sky, Sitting on a rickety bench and sleeping… It turns out that he was feeding a flock of birds with bread crumbs.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/05\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Alarm<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
White butterflies flutter in a swarm, Without violating nature’s rules. They sit down on the snow dunes, It is clear that they are terribly tired. Sleep sweetly, trees, Standing in the groves and in the thicket of the forest. Let the rolling thunder at dawn Wake you up in the spring!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/07\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You can hang a cap for a month.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Bats are darting across the sky, the dew on the grass is trembling like tears. The stars look down from heaven, without closing Their tired eyes in silence. Fields and meadows are snoring with crickets, Frogs are singing songs in the twilight. By throwing a cap out of an open window at random, you can hang it for a month.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Web<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The tired city is suffocating there, Nightingales are bombing droppings on the fly. The spiders in the workshops are made of durable steel, they weave a barbed web. It’s not a spider’s web stretched across a meadow, but a tripwire with a grenade and a mine. The planet, barely hanging by a thread, is entangled in a steel web.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/05\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The frozen mountain ash<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees howled from the cold, I don’t know who the winds are crying for. God grant that the snow dust does not blind the eyes of the windows. Like a free bird in a cage, A frozen mountain ash begs to enter the house, Softly knocking with a bare branch On my window, covered with ice.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tear-off calendar<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The windows of the houses are shaded by the rain, The trees in the garden are whispering, they are not sleeping. The weather is flightless, but the birds are still flying recklessly to the south. Fields that are tired are slumbering, Silent as a mute mist over a river. The covers of the butterfly books are still there, And winter will soon howl like a blizzard. I look longingly at the rain, The fields and meadows are damn tired. And this rainy November looks like an old torn calendar. The brushes of the scarlet mountain ash are heavy, Outside the window she waves her clusters. The days are imperceptibly being torn off, like leaves, From the calendar of our lives.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/04\/2020. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Paper boat<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
People looked thoughtfully at the rain Through the tear-stained windows. The city bristled like a hedgehog, No one can be as sad as he is. The rain has finally subsided, calmed down, And the wet gray sidewalk glistened. The sky was carefully launched into the puddle of the moon, like a paper boat.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/07\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Yawning<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A buoy flickers like a light on the river, The sound of seagulls has subsided before sunset. Blue stars lit up in the distance, No one is visible in the Milky Way. The blue evening distance rattles sleepily with restless frogs. The echo across the river repeats monotonously, Bright sadness Pours from the moon. Birds’ nests are blackening on the tree, the trees are whispering, they are saying a prayer. The garden gates are yawning with their mouths wide open.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The deer got lost in the woods again<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I listen to the songs of silence for free, The birds are going to the south again. Canadian geese are flying, trumpeting over the autumn fields, flying. The groves are noisy, not regretting anything, Magic and miracles are all around. The deer, Lost in the woods, call out to each other in a long drawl.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12:04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
That’s why I love mists so much<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn wanders like an uninvited guest, Deserted fields sleep across the river. A lonely soul in a quiet fog Finds harmony and peace. The curls have turned gray in the empty fields, And the rowan tree is bitter on the edge of the field. Thoughtful fog is modest and wise, He does not talk, He is silent.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Wall<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
«He’s not Jewish. But sometimes at night he also wants to silently cry and sob against the high, invisible wall of his sins. He was crying, looking at his shadow, which was also sobbing silently, asking God for forgiveness for its old sins, wrapping itself in an old cloak, lowering its head and shaking its shoulders, now lengthening, now shortening in the light of a kerosene lamp, on the cold wall of the hut.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/12\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind is conducting searches in the grove, It is looking for something and whistling sleepily.A horse grazes, snorting in silence, The autumn meadow breathes mists. The mists are swirling lazily over the meadow, The cranes have left the expanses of the swamps. There is a desolate silence all around, A dance of fallen leaves at the gate.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/06\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Memories<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Do you remember, dear, those distant days, those fields and meadows where you and I walked together among the blue-eyed cornflowers, lying on the grass as if in bed. A light flock of snow-white butterflies flew around us quietly and carelessly. I remember you were happy when I made a wreath of white daisies and put it on your head like a crown. How carefree we used to walk through the fields and meadows, waist-deep in the grass! We never went to work, that is, there was no one else in the world, many eons ago, when they called me Adam and you Eve.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Roads and forests are covered with snow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ponds have peacefully fallen asleep under the ice, and the howl of a gray blizzard can be heard. In the light of the lantern, it dances and buzzes, In the mist of snow flakes, a swarm. Roofs are cracking under the weight of snow, roads and forests are covered with snow. I look out of the window into the twilight and hear the dull bark of a tired dog.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A delicacy<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter moths dance in a swarm, a whirlwind performs a belly dance… — You’re an evil blizzard, don’t wake me up with a howl, Let the snow silence sleep! The clock is running, running, I’m listening to the sounds, They have hiccups, they are full of food, Which is simply called «time», Old and gray In eternity.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/10\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Blizzard<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was as if a blizzard had torn the roofs off the hives and the poor bees froze in the cold. They fly, whirl under a red lantern, swarm in the headlights of cars, tired and sleepy trams of the last. It’s as if it’s not a blizzard howling outside a low window, but bees crying in a frosted swarm and beating into the luminous windows of houses, like honeycombs with golden honey flowing out.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Silver chains of flying birds<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Trees generously cover the road with Golden leaves outside the window. The winds, without fear of getting burned, Play with the autumn fire. The swan is flying, trumpeting over Lake, The field is covered with mists, sleeping. High in the boundless autumn sky, Silver chains of birds flying away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/10\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fragments of the broken moon above the water<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Blue stars in the evening sky, Bloomed like cornflowers in a field. A snow-white swan floats on the moon, The waves are playing catch-up. The lights of the river bay are twinkling, the deep-sea expanse is blue. The stars are like plankton, and the fish want to feast on them. The moon trail is silver on the river, It’s like a mirage driving me crazy. It’s like a white moon peony in the distance, shyly dropping petals into the water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2017. Canada is Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The lanterns barely fight off the white flies.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I look at the snow-covered courtyards, wiping the frozen glass with my sleeve. The lanterns barely fight off the white flies, There is no one on the deserted street. Then the fox stops, then runs again, Across the snow-covered field. The tired barking of an old dog can be heard, as if from another world.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/02\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Meeting<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When the downpour ruffled the grass and the thunder stopped, the thunderstorm stopped, the willows looked with wild delight into the bottomless pools of water. Like our youth gone, quietly, you passed by me. The sound of clacking and clinking heels rolled like an echo through a gorge. I froze, holding my breath, speechless, silent in the shadows. Like a shadow, he stood motionless, leaning against the gray wall.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter dreams<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I walk through the snow with measured steps, The wires are ringing loudly in the cold. Fluffy snow under my feet, Grunting pitifully like a pig. The blizzard throws rice at the windows again, without stopping for a moment. And people, hiding behind a sheet, sleep Like the mummies of the Egyptian pyramids.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/07\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Song<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Here we are again, just the two of us, With you, the restless singer cricket. You keep babbling on your tongue, Luring gullible brides. Oh, my humble and honest neighbour, Why do you live alone in the crevices?! Your sonorous primordial songs Reach the very stars.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/09\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The maple tree on the wall has a crooked shadow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Snow is falling in large flakes, and the snowdrift is as clean as a sheet of paper. The snow fades and in it, The creak of the gate, the whistle of the blizzard. Roads and yards are covered with snow, and the snow-covered distance has already turned. Street lights dance out of boredom, Waltz with snow flakes. Forests are dressed up in snow coats, Windows are too lazy to bat their eyelashes. The dog’s stingy barking can barely be heard, the maple tree has a crooked shadow on the wall.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My homeland is my father’s field<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
From the blazing bonfire of autumn, My soul is spacious and bright. Fallen leaves are scattered everywhere, the janitor thoughtfully shuffles with a broom. I think incessantly, I think of you, O my distant, sunny Homeland! Caravans of cranes are high in the sky, I look at them, holding my breath. Looking sadly at the autumn field, I whisper, as if a reed were in the wind — Oh, Motherland, I left you involuntarily, Forgive the fugitive poet…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/11\/2014. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The pendulum of the clock was swinging on a swing<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind, which was chilled in the cold, began to crawl across the roofs with a whistle. And winter painted a «White square», Windows on glass canvases. A blizzard touched the glass of the windows, Flakes of snow flew in the gloom. On the wall of the room, without thinking about anything, the pendulum of the clock swung on a swing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Clouds cast shadows on the fields<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Summer is waving white daisies, The ears of corn are ripe In the rye field, The wind is blowing the blue sail of the sky, The lark is trilling. A willow tree looks longingly into the distance, White poplars are ringing in the wind. Clouds pass by hurriedly, Casting shadows on the slopes and fields. The rye sea is agitated, rustling, Golden wave after wave is rolling. He walks along the track alone in the field, The wandering wind is intoxicating.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thoughtful September redhead<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cranes leave the expanses of the swamps, With the passing of summer, the heat subsides. Swallows on wires are like notes, It’s time for migratory birds to travel. Dried leaves above the burning inferno, Flying like red bats. A single butterfly, now far away, now near, Wanders silently, fluttering in silence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/09\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The letter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The snow is still falling in the winter twilight, Snowflakes are curling, whirling in the sky. They fly, they fly, as in a wonderful dream, Like crumbs of white bread. Winter has sent us a letter again, and there is snow on the paper. To cover your face with this letter, You could cry in a blizzard.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Frogs sing, causing sadness<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A merry dance began in the sky near the blue stars. The moon is floating quietly on the waves of clouds, like a paper boat. The chorus of frogs, causing sadness, Chatters, selflessly sings. As if on a boat of a month in the distance, My distant childhood is sailing away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Silence of the Stars
\n(To the famous Uzbek writer and poet Sherzod Komil Khalil)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a deserted night, as bright as day, Dew glistens on the delicate cobwebs. There is a starry sky above the meadow and in it, like a sharp, honed scythe. Birches ring like cicadas in the wind, Lily buds stick out of the water. The crickets sing restlessly, while the stars, on the contrary, listen and remain silent.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/05\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like playing a violin on a gate<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A scarecrow in an old straw hat, Guarding the silence in a deserted field. It stands silently, dressed in rags, The autumn expanse, on the contrary, is naked. The whistling wind is vacuuming in the yard, And woodpeckers are knocking in the coniferous forests. Where the moose trumpet sadly and longingly, From loneliness, longing and boredom. As if there was no one left in the world, The frogs in the distant swamps fell silent. The crazy wind is squeaking softly, Like a violin on a gate.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/03\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind in the meadows is telling fortunes on daisies<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The scarecrow is sad in torn clothes, The warm days are over. Mists graze silently in the meadows, Like a flock of curly sheep. Ending their lives in the world, The leaves silently fall to the sands. In the meadows, the wind is guessing on the daisies, Tearing off the last petals from them.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Shelter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Forests have burst into flames on the bonfire of autumn, Sparks of leaves are flying around. The cranes flew away, ploughing the skies with their wings, like a field with a plow. The trees got drunk, I don’t know where, They danced in the wind and sang. The poor mushrooms hid from people, they were eating under a green skirt.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/10\/2018\/. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Poor water is dying of thirst<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a pity that we were left homeless at home, the rain got soaked to the skin without an umbrella. The road rushed under the car by itself, Crying in the wind, garden gates. A road hit to death by cars, Lying without signs of life. The ferries are bellowing like cows at a watering hole, Time is running on the dial. The flame in the fireplace is trembling from the cold and the poor water is dying of thirst… Universal nakedness threatens clothes, Food has declared a hunger strike forever.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/05\/2017.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Quiet, like a stork on the prowl<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When the moon is bright, Drops are dripping from the roof, like tears, that’s how it is. In the silence, they bark sleepily, I hear the dog sitting down in a tired voice. The darkness is crying in whispers outside the window, The rest of the snow in the yard is melting. Winter is tiptoeing away from us, Quietly, like a stork hunting.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/11\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The owl shakes his head silently.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the meadow, the grass is tangled in a spider’s web, The fog is silent, thoughtful, gray, Like an empty, soft bed, Swirling quietly over the water. As I walk, dragging my shadow behind me, I see a creaking, old pine tree. In the twilight of the frogs, distant voices Cherish my soul, make me sleepy. I’m asking: — who are the mosquitoes crying about? And why did the nightingale stop in the grove? Tell me, can you talk?.. The owl shakes his head silently.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Letter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter, you sent me a letter From the world of distant, magical dreams. Not a word of snow is written on the paper, but I read it over and over again. We don’t need letters and words and unnecessary sounds when the fields are asleep. Either a blizzard is howling, or the poor grass is howling, Outside the frozen window again. I’m reading your letter, winter, Written without words in the snow. Outside, a blizzard has gone crazy, Swirling snowflakes, as if in a dream. You write about the red-breasted bullfinches, Which are sitting on the branches of the mountain ash. So that I can read them at the window in silence, When the winds are humming in the chimney.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/11\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon roamed the sky until dawn<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The predawn hour is early. There is yawning at the creaking gate. The river was drowned in a dull fog, Such a pre-dawn dumbness. Wondrous patterns in the sky of stars, The moon roamed the sky until dawn. In the morning, tired lanterns fell asleep on the pavement, looking down.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The afternoon hour<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking at the firmament, the heart freezes, The sunset garnet cracked again. Digging in the grass, as if in wool, the wind — macaque is looking for something edible. As if armed with sticks, the trees are coming towards us like angry people. To keep the fields awake, Frogs sing in whispers near the marshes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rowan’s hands were red from the cold<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sunset is wounded by a flying wedge, Autumn rustles with fallen leaves. On his head with a bony crown, a hornbearer wanders through the woods. There are ripples on the surface of the pond from the wind, It is not known which plane he is flying in. October is already knocking like a maple branch, Quietly and carefully on the window panes. In the distance, the chimneys of a smoking city, The air is rustic and clean. Under my window, from the autumn cold, the poor rowan’s brushes turned red.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/11\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon in the sky held its breath<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The moon held its breath in the sky, So that the dew from the grass would not fall off and, like a bomb falling to the ground, it would not explode In silence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/04\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Moonlit night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The snow came crashing down, Couldn’t hold on any longer, and fell. Interrupting someone’s sweet dreams, Who was asleep, snoring in the hut. The stars shone as if in a dream, The cricket of silence rang in my ears. Like snow falling from a high roof, the soul melted in the moonlight.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’ll look into your bottomless eyes<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thunders that had been rumbling until dawn fell silent, Only by morning the thunderstorm had stopped. Seeing themselves as lanterns in a mirror, They stared silently into the puddles’ eyes. It’s like there’s no one else in the world but us. The tired lanterns are still on. The wind runs softly, on tiptoe, Over the mirrored puddles, chasing the ripples. A tear is rolling down your cheeks, Be silent, my love, don’t say anything. I’ll look into your bottomless eyes, As if into puddles, like streetlights.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Spring<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s like poplars have forgotten how to walk, and magpies are shooting people at point-blank range. Perspiration swirls softly in the fields, dandelions bloom by the roadside. There is a bustling bazaar on the trees of birds, A blooming garden flies around in the wind. The stork tilts its head back on the nest and clicks its beak for a long time.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The scarecrow waves his torn sleeve<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ringing in the wind in the groves and forests, Autumn birches rustle the sea. There are trembling tears on the branches, like on eyelashes. We don’t have long to wait for winter, the Scarecrow is waving his torn sleeve. He probably wants to cry In the fields, where no one is visible.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thunder laughed early at dawn<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I heard the sound of tears dripping, Winter was crying, preventing me from sleeping. In desperation, icicles were thrown from the high roof onto the asphalt. A drunken wind was blowing outside the window, And the people were sleeping soundly. Going crazy early at dawn, Thunder roared with laughter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
30\/07\/2016. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fish swallows the bait of the stars<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Gardens sleep peacefully under the moon, Peonies drop their petals into the water. Like in an aquarium at the bottom of the water, the pebbles and sands are clearly visible. Not the water in the pond, but the endless sky, Where the reflection of the birches fluctuates. Splashing his tail, the stupid fish Swallows the bait of the stars.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/09\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Separation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sleepy streetlights do not sleep, Flooding the path with soft light. The stars in the sky are boiling like tears, The wind is slamming the gate in the darkness. The wind was whirling the leaves in the garden, and the cold was getting worse outside. I carefully blew out the lighted candle So that my beard wouldn’t catch fire.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/04\/2023.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind is juggling with burning leaves<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn set her dress on fire, and the flames spread to forests and gardens. Geese fly rhythmically over the fields, creaking buckets in search of water. Somehow ignoring this, Whistling Indifferently, blowing fire, The wind juggles Burning leaves, Tossing them from palm to palm.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Eighth Wonder of the World<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We are surprised to see the nest of a weaver bird, woven from dry grass, hanging like a pear on a thin willow branch above a bubbling river. But we don’t realize and won’t even think about the globe that hangs over the abyss.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees clawed at the ground<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The forests are already turning yellow and the groves are thinning, The gardens are flying around, exposing themselves dejectedly. As if they were not cranes, but days and weeks, Flying away in a wedge towards the south. The winding roads are already empty, The scarecrow in a torn outfit is sad. In an autumn meadow, horses and cows graze peacefully knee-deep in the fog. Snowstorms of birds are buzzing over the fields, October is rustling in the maple grove. The poor trees, in order not to fly away, Clung tightly to the ground with their claws.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/04\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Echo teases a woodpecker in the woods<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The ears of wheat have already ripened, I walk alone through the field into the forest. The Skylark, the bell of heaven, sings over the field, trilling. Oh, how silently these butterflies dance around, creating miracles. Repeating the voice in the distance, like children, the Echo teases the woodpecker in the woods.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Footsteps<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The house was completely silent, except for the monotonous ticking of the clock. A man was sitting alone in a house and suddenly got scared, thinking that he was not hearing the ticking of a clock, but the sounds of his death’s footsteps, which was inexorably approaching him seconds after seconds, minutes after minutes, hour after hour.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/03\/2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn expanses<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The country road is emptying, The blackbirds have left the birdhouses. Like a local agronomist, a crow wanders around, checking the depth of the furrow. It’s like smoking a hookah in a fog, By a foggy river of poplars and willows. Above the empty autumn fields, The creak of an old crane cart.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the bridge<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time is rushing, rushing around, The fiery grass is running in the wind. At sunset, the boundaries of the firmament are plowed by an invisible plow. Freight train rumbles in the distance, Clouds of lava boil at sunset. Oh, my shadow, why did you fall off the bridge and throw yourself into the river again?!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the platform<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like a paper boat, the moon floated above the abyss of clouds. The train started moving, and immediately the poles and trees with road signs began to step back in horror. You left…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/07\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Consolation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Why are you leaning against a gray wall, Wrapped in a dark and old cloak, Silently crying alone in the shadows? Oh, my shadow, stop crying…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/12\/2022. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fields are already cleared, the expanse is bare<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The forests are clothed in gray mists, Rustling in the wind like the waves of the sea. Like a fox with a burning tail, campfires smolder and burn in parks. The fields are already harvested, the expanse is bare, I hear the whisper of flying birches. The haystacks are sad in a foggy field, A landscape that I adore to tears. Emptying my soul to the bottom, The Birdhouse, which never sleeps, looks south On a long pole, Waiting for a pair of birds to fly away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/01\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am alone again at the low window, behind which the autumn rain is falling. I can hear him rustling in the silence. It’s like you’re reading my book at night, and your tears are quiet, like raindrops sprinkling the page where the poems about you are printed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/08\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Factory pipes are like blown-out candles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A flock of geese flew over my head, cackling alarmingly. The wind turned the fallen leaves into a merry dance. The fog creeps lazily along the slopes, Covering the fields with bare shoulders. Factory chimneys smoke in the distance Like candles blown out before bedtime.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/09\/2018. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Dogs bark sadly in the twilight<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An accordion is crying somewhere out of boredom, frogs are singing and the wind is whistling. It is a pity that these magical sounds are not heard by the Deaf silence. Crickets are singing loudly in the twilight, As if summer is snoring with crickets. The moon silently floods my room with its soft light. An anthill of stars boils over the road, Dogs sadly bark in the distance. Like sad ferry horns, They hail each other on the river.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
28\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A sleepless night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A moonlit night, intertwining shadows, Winter wandering In a sheepskin coat. There are tired shadows on the snow, and the moon is shining sleepily over the city. My dream is like a worried bird That lives alone under a roof. The moonlit skies can’t sleep, They are bitten by fleas of distant stars.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
19\/08\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh, that’s why the stars are shining so brightly!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It’s a good thing we don’t pay taxes for the moon that shines over the river. For the soft shadows of the trees on the road, For the deserted silence and peace. The moon wanders alone in the sky, The stars shine like diamonds from afar. This is due to the fact that they are in shallow water, and the river is washing them of mud until morning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The water expanses look like a desert<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sea performs a solo dance, The sails are white in the distance. Someone is surfing on the crests of the waves, Riding, joyfully shouting. Seagulls, like ragged patches of sails, Where the winds caressed the waves of curls. The surf is roaring and beating his head against the rocks like a drunk. The waves resemble sand mountains and a double-humped camel too. Without you, my dear, the expanses of water look like a deserted desert.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
22\/07\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Like an ancient sea in a shell<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The voices of the songbirds have stopped, and the birches are rustling in the wind. There is diamond dew on the thin web, It looks like trembling tears. Autumn bonfires are smoking in parks, and there are patterns of leaves on the asphalt. The trees in the gardens are making lonely noises, Like an ancient sea in a shell.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn is on the threshold<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A willow tree is staring into the mirror of the water, A quiet mist stretches over the river. A gray lark sings over the field, Trilling the silence maddening. Butterflies kiss secretly on the fly, a dragonfly flutters its wings, flies. God forbid that she doesn’t accidentally get Humpback spiders into the trapdoor. The wind tramp is looking for something and absentmindedly hanging out, Digging in the grass. As if imperceptibly, on tiptoe, quietly, Indian summer is leaving us.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tired of heavy snowfall evening<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The wind is whirling snow flakes, And the snow makes my soul feel light as day. The evening is tired of heavy snowfall, The Blizzard is whistling and crying in it. Streetlights scurry in the cold, Winter has covered the trees in snow. Deserted roads and yards are sleeping, Wrapped in a blanket of snow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
05\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Poet
\n(To the magnificent poet Feruzshah Nematullaev)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He was walking with an umbrella in his hands, wearing a cap, and the birches were quietly rustling in the rain. For some reason, the rain was crying and whispering, Turning tears into puddles. He was walking upside down, in a torn jacket, Unshaven, like a brownie. He froze for a moment and was really scared, Not recognizing himself in the puddle.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where the night churns up shoe polish<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Their eyes are yellow with fatigue, and they feel sleepy, but they don’t sleep. Crickets chirp in the twilight of the night, Sparks of stars fly across the sky. Silhouettes of houses, shadows of trees, a pond deafened by a chorus of frogs. The moon drew a circle around itself in the deserted blue twilight. She goes down slowly to the river To quench her thirst somehow.Pine forests are blackening in the distance, Where the night is churning up shoe polish.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Heaven is shedding its tears for whom?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thunder is already thundering, the storm is in a rage, The clouds are shredded by lightning with a knife. The sky was bending low over the city, and the solo concert began. People are running down the street under an umbrella, The sky is shedding bitter tears for whom? Raindrops, like tadpoles of frogs, Flutter on the windows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Quiet August<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Water coos on the riverbank, Cows are drawn to a watering hole in a caravan. Orioles are crying in shady gardens, Butterflies are walking, swarming around. The wind is a lazy bum in appearance, The flight of dandelion fluff is mute. It is impossible to catch them without nets, Like snow flakes in winter. Polar silence reigns in the village, A butterfly flies forlornly over the meadow. A deserted long-distance road in a haze. How the mirage distorts and melts.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/08\/2016. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The saw screeches like a blizzard in winter<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A woodcutter with an axe and a saw, silently listens to the woodpecker’s knock. The saw screeches like a blizzard in winter and the trees fall with a crash. Pines and cedars in the waist-high grass Whisper prayer day and night. They look from afar, afraid, To where the sawmill is laughing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/07\/2016. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The autumn forests rang with cicadas<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I saw how the red autumn, an evil old woman, dispersed flocks of migratory birds, and with the departure of the cranes, the desolate silence rang like a cicada in groves and forests, where trees shake off leaves like a wise man who gets rid of gold.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A Conversation with God<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh my God, oh my God, can you hear me?.. So, yesterday people came to my house with red folders in their armpits from the tax inspectorate, from Gorgaz, from the electric grid, from the utilities. When I found out about the debts I had to pay, I turned terribly pale, my lips turned blue, and I almost fainted, God! Lord, it’s good that your angels, too, with thick folders in their armpits, don’t come to my house demanding debts for the sun, for the wind, for the rain, for the snow. It’s a good thing you didn’t install an air meter in my throat!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/11\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Blue Notebook<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Literate seagulls fly over the sea, Turning over the pages of the waves, From morning to evening they read together, Reread loudly in unison. Let the sunset boil like lava in the sky, Forget about it, don’t waste your time. Look, the sea, reminiscent of distant years, Rustles like a school blue notebook.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Dance<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The lanterns and sidewalks of the streets are sad, And they are terribly tired in the rain. Gusty winds blew from the north, without violating the rules of Nature. The rain flooded the street with tears, Looking sadly at the hot dance. Where twilight danced proudly, like a Spaniard, with his eyes tied.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/09\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The tattoo artist<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking at the paper lying on the table, I thought that it looked like the silence of snow-covered fields, reminiscent of a moon screen on the wall of a house and a sheet on a rope frozen in the bitter cold. I thought she was a doppelganger of moonlit nights, where people, frozen with delight, thoughtfully listen to the trills of the nightingale. It turned out the opposite, that is, the paper turned pale with fear when I started tattooing words on it with ink and a pen.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Under one umbrella<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain heals by washing away old grudges, It was born for this only. To forget at least a little about separation, Cry, honey, along with the rain. The rain pours its unsalted tears, Knocking on the window panes, then on the door. But he looks painfully like a crocodile, don’t believe his tears, my love. May the rain make me sad and sad, Reminding me of you over and over again. And you and I are still walking, Under the same umbrella of the boundless skies.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
08\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A walk along the seashore<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After drinking the excess intoxicating sea, It Staggers, makes noise and rustles. Gray waves are arguing with the winds, The washed plate of the moon is shining. The sea enjoys the music to the fullest, Plays the accordion, sings to tears. There is a tidal wave on the moon shore, Thoughtfully washing the diamonds of the stars.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/09\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Phone conversation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was snowing heavily. Flakes of snow flew like a giant swarm of white locusts, covering the sky, trees, roads, and houses.I was walking through an impenetrable snowfall, creaking snow, and went into the glass cabin to call you. He dropped a coin into the payphone, turned the dial, which began to sing like frogs in the marshes, in the quiet evening twilight in the distance. I dialed your phone number and it rang for a long time. Finally, you picked up the phone and I started saying, «Hello, is that you?» How are you, my love? .. Hello, why are you crying? Hello!..
\nCrying, you either hung up the phone or tore off the phone cord…
\nShort beeps began to sound, similar to the beeps of an artificial respiration machine connected to a patient who had died…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
07\/01\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
House
\n(In memory of my beloved grandmother Magfirat)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking at the gray clouds, I remember my distant childhood, my grandmother’s house. Tears come to my eyes, melting, Crickets singing outside the open window. I remember, resembling a stormy sky, There was a calico-covered ceiling. A kerosene lamp was burning on the corner, Where a single moth fluttered. It seemed that the ceiling was low, and a thunderstorm was about to break out. Thunder will roar and bright lightning Will strike me right in the eyes. As my grandmother prayed, God, It’s lonely in that hut at night. She whispered like drizzling rain, Shedding tears, closing her eyes. I often think of my grandmother and the demolished little house. When the crickets sing with abandon, At night outside my open window. How many years have passed, but I still miss my grandmother, that’s how it is. And she, poor and lonely, Moved to the village cemetery a long time ago… With my eyes downcast, looking at the snow, I stand at the window, tears not melting, and I whisper in my mind, as if in a dream: — Happy housewarming, my grandmother…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
29\/09\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Bubbles on a puddle play thimbles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The meadows were already wrapped in mists, the day was like an unbroken dream. It sounds like reeds and snowbanks on the shore, The rain is drizzling, tedious. I don’t know, the lanterns are sad about someone, swallowing Their unsalted tears. The rain scratches the glass of the windows, The golden autumn is crying outside the window. The rain is drumming softly on the roof, He is alone and no one needs him. Out of boredom, moving bubbles over the water, They deftly play thimbles in puddles.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Snoring in the dark with frogs summer<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The starry sky is endless, the moonlight is like snow. I hear the bell of the last tram, Which grits its teeth like in a dream, Honey flows from the glowing windows, A moth beats to the light. There is deep silence and peace around, Summer snores in the twilight with frogs.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Frozen tears<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ominous lightning flashed brightly over the field, in the distance, Pulling out a knife. Like the blue cornflowers of distant fields, they spread their roots into the sky. It was pouring noisily, as if from a bucket of rain, The old and young ran for cover. Thunder laughed at the world for a long time, Turning the rain into hail That fell from the sky like peas, And the maples and birches rustled in the wind. The sky sobbed over the labyrinths of roads, Shedding its icy tears.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The silence<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The footsteps of pedestrians have subsided on the street, the milky way is turning white and melting. In the moonlit silence, tired mongrels are barking somewhere across the river. The moon is shining directly above the roof, and the stars are made of natural topaz. Such silence that the whole cosmos will hear the deep sigh of the toilet.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/10\/2019. Canada is Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn puddles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Droplets roll down the cheeks of the windows, Softly, as if a tear were behind a tear. October, wiping her tears with her fist, Hides her reddened eyes. The rain is still whispering in silence, And the weather is getting worse and worse. Puddles frighten pedestrians with their wild, bottomless depth.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
31\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The White Sail<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lined up in a row, like cranes, So as not to go without food in winter, Ants with a butterfly wing on their shoulders, silently return home. They walk steadily, they don’t cry, they don’t scream, They walk, they walk mournfully along the slope, A butterfly wing on their shoulders, It looks like a sail in the sea.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/04\/2014. Canada, Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fellow travellers<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To hitchhike to the city, they stand on the side of the road and wave at the cars, which fly without stopping. But without giving up hope, they wave and wave, remaining in clouds of dust, sweet clover, cornflowers and daisies along the highway.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mists float on the river on a raft<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Contrary to the laws of nature and science, mists float on the river on a raft. A spider left webs like a tattered sail on the branches of the trees. The ringing voices of birds are no longer heard, I walk alone, slowly along the path. Hiding his head under his wing, sleeping Like swans, the wind is blind. Oh, the ferry sailing away into the mists, Which hums long in the distance, With a voice like the lowing of cows, Do not wake the foggy silence!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
24\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A torn pillow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The river has stalled under the thick ice, and the trees around it are frosted. A blizzard is blowing, it won’t calm down in any way, The willow tree is frozen over the pond. Darkness stealthily peeks into the windows, Flies swirl around the lantern. It’s like winter is tearing its pillow, stuffed with down, to shreds on the street.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/11\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The forester is in the hospital<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The silence in the ward is like on swan Lake, The summer days have not yet come to an end. It’s as if it’s not clouds floating in the sky, but a white, curly flock of sheep. I can hear the cheerful voices of birds, The birches are ringing in the wind outside the window. It was as if they had come to the hospital from the forest to check on me…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/08\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Train of Memories<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The train rumbles and the carriages creak, Rushing without stopping for a moment. It seems that the moon is about to catch up with them, Paling like the ghost of the pyramids. The starry chandelier trembles over the meadow, The moonlit night is so silent. The sky is plowed by an invisible plow, A train is rushing, stumbling over the rails. In the same carriage, in the twilight of spring, an ageless slender lady has been riding and riding For half a century, Without wiping tears from her long eyelashes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
18\/06\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mirror<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The downpour was like a booming waterfall, lashing pedestrians right in the face. After turning the alleys into a mirror, He suddenly stopped. The squadron sailed away from the clouds, Like a distant echo of a thunderstorm. The butterflies were drying their wings in the sun, and the Daisies looked up with difficulty. The blue distance beckons and pulls to itself, There, beyond the meadows, fields and forests. Trees look into the mirror of the sky Without recognizing themselves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fire<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The leaves on the branches roast autumn, Walking through the grove absent-mindedly and sleepily. Groves are burning in a maple fire, Rustling like waves in the sea. Letters of leaves without an address or stamp are strewn across deserted roads and courtyards. In order not to disturb the silence in the park, Listopad speaks in a whisper. It was as if autumn had caused this fire by confusing gasoline with water. God forbid that the fire does not spread To haystacks and houses.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A pan of bright stars in the sky<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time is dripping like drops, I can hear The time I’m wasting. No, it’s the icy stalactites of the roof, Shedding tears and crying softly. A pan of bright stars in the sky, the moon shaved off his eyebrows again. She floats like a swan on a lake, Going crazy with loneliness. Cooing, having a conversation with someone, The soup on the old pot is sleepy. Like a tired chorus of frogs, Which whispers monotonously in the distance.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Late autumn<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Why are you frowning, sky? Is your rain on the street mercilessly lashing me with a water whip? As if that wasn’t enough, the fall of leaves in the park gave me a slap in the face with foliage. A gusty wind turned my umbrella out and made passersby laugh on the street. The puddles, too, secretly mocking me, reflect me upside down… What have I done to you?! Am I to blame for the fact that the birds left their nests and devastated the gardens, flew away in huge flocks to the south?..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
02\/08\/2022. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Geese squeak with empty buckets<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The leaves are spinning in the orphan’s garden, Tired trees need peace. Like an underwater plant, the reflection of a willow tree sways at the bottom of a transparent puddle. Rowan got rid of the gold and copper, she still has ruby beads. Somewhere in the distance, geese are squeaking empty buckets in the blue sky.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Arable land<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The ants have already stopped their strike, and the grass is hiding under the fallen leaves. Emptying my soul to the bottom, the cranes flew noisily to unknown lands. Moose silently roam the forests, hookah smokes over the river. Autumn roars like a distant tractor, Snoring sweetly in the gloomy fields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
21\/07\/2015. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Early September leaf fall<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He prays in a whisper in a birch grove, The red September leaves fall early. Autumn sends migratory birds Beyond the blue seas to distant countries. What a light and thoughtful waltz, autumn is dancing with fallen leaves! The young birches in the grove are shyly undressing, as in a locker room. The trees are whispering to each other, Communicating with each other in slurred words. Flying through the desert skies stretch to the south, Cranes aerial caravans.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/05\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’ve been waiting for the moon to rise for a long time<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The night rang with the sound of crickets, and the twilight sobbed like distant frogs. Sleepy stars can’t fall asleep, I’ve been waiting for the moon to rise for a long time. In an old pond in clear water, a chorus of frogs was tearing bubbles. Finally, the moon peeked in, wearing a veil of thin tree branches.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
14\/04\/2020. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On the shore of the sea<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The soul will calm down in the moonlit silence, The lights in the port are flashing, burning. I’m sitting by the campfire and in the shells of my ears, The ancient noise, the rustle of the sea. The flames of the campfire lengthen the shadows, the starry sky looks like a dream. Like a carefree sleeping baby, the Moon fell asleep in the cradle of the waves.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Winter pine<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The stars twinkle sleepily in the distance, Keeping me awake, chasing away my dreams. The paper of the snow-covered fields is white, Under the desk lamp of the moon. I don’t want to step on the snow, Under which spring is quietly slumbering. In the moonlit silence, as if in a dream, a pine tree silently looks at its shadow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
23\/07\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Finally, his wife gave it to him<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In order not to harm the children, his wife finally gave it to him. As a bank, she gave him her preferential loan. She gave it standing up, in a leaky dress, without demanding anything as collateral. He promised to bring every last penny of his salary home. Reluctantly, but still his wife gave it, The man urging the poor thing in a hurry. Then he took everything she gave him and drank every penny in a pub.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
13\/09\/2015. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Desert<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fishermen are fishing for salmon in the distance, and a seagull is flying loudly. Fishing nets sparkle like a silk web in the summer sun. The water is green, and the expanses are blue, The sea deafens itself with noise. Waves on a wide water desert, Rolling like a tumbleweed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
06\/02\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The lack of<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thank you again and again, For the free air, for the bread, too. But I don’t have enough words, Give me the words, please, God! To put it into words, I could only describe the dull echoes of a dog barking. The low flight of geese over the roofs of houses, Which say goodbye to us, flying away. We need words of steel that turn the layers around like a plow. So that you can plow them in an autumn field in a dense fog. Give me the words that are sung by a Hoopoe alone in the fields, on the edge, So that I do not forget my homeland, Not only in a foreign land, but also in paradise!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
09\/11\/2014. Brampton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The petals<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A broken lantern on the street is sad, looking at the fragments of its lampshade,
\nsimilar to the fallen petals of a white peony.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/01\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pit<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The well bucket barks like a dog, And sinks into the well, rattling plaintively. With spring water, buckets are lifted, A creaking pile, chains clanking. God grant that when giving us water to drink, Rattling chains and a bucket, one day, the good and gray Old Well did not dry up and did not die of thirst.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01\/06\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A conversation with a giraffe<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh, the giraffe with the too long neck, I envy you in white, secretly. Look, you can’t see My sunny homeland abroad, by any chance? There should be a village called Maslahat, surrounded by willows and poplars. Where the sunset blazes in the evenings, Gray cotton fields are white. The wind is fluttering Cornflowers and daisies in the ravines with its invisible hand, A cuckoo is sighing somewhere across the river, Evening is falling imperceptibly there. Turn your long neck to the right, to where the hoopoe was sobbing inconsolably. Where the house is, wearing wooden-rimmed glasses, Everything looks sadly into the distance.<\/p>\n
Not visible?<\/p>\n
What<\/span> a pity<\/span>…<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
12\/01\/2015. Brempton, Canada.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Smile<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As a child, I loved to kick the trunks of frosted poplars and clouds of silver dust fell right on me. I was delighted and wildly admired, remaining under the avalanches of frost. I also liked to knock out the teeth of hanging icicles by throwing my hat, and the stupid winter smiled at me Like a drunk, without front teeth.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
27\/11\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The crash<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The fall of leaves quietly crumbles the leaves, The old man, sitting on a bench, sleeps. Waving their branches, the trees in the grove say goodbye to the caravans of birds. Fallen leaves are burning on a bonfire, Wipers are silently shuffling with a broom. Gloomy pedestrians walk thoughtfully, Tying scarves with a loop.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/11\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The crooked mirror
\n(In memory of the artist of the theater «Crooked Mirror» Abid Asomov)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The summer rain began to rustle softly, and pedestrians began to run joyfully. I don’t know exactly what’s on their minds, but they’re running, slightly cowering. I’m walking alone, with moderate steps, Oh, what wonderful landscapes, God! People are reflected upside down, In a crooked puddle mirror. The noisy rain finally stopped, and the angry thunderstorm died down. Clouds, like a hurrying flock of sheep, Tear-stained eyes at the windows…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
10\/02\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Drowned River<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The deserted and blue twilight of summer, wormwood has turned very gray Under the moon. Branches weave fanciful patterns, Winds of the valleys walk through the courtyards. Frogs are trilling in the moonlit silence, ferries are calling to each other from afar. The water lilies and lilies were white in the pool, And the river was drowned in a dull fog.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
11\/03\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Deserted night<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The starry sky, like peacocks, spread its tail outside the window. The plains sang sleepily like crickets In the deserted twilight of the night. They sang a song in unison with the frogs, and the green reeds were waist-deep in the water. The poplars and willows looked at their own shadows under the moon, afraid.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
15\/01\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My lover<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
While the snowstorm has not yet swept the road, I walk alone through the deserted park. Hello, honey, how are you? Not criminal, I mean. The same smile and the same gait, You walk with careful steps, afraid. I do not even know how to hug you, Autumn is my red-haired lover.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/06\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The dance of Loneliness<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A pile of fallen leaves is spinning, Which the wind turns and drives. It feels like very soon, the city will drown in a quiet fog, The Maple tree is waving at me, carefully and quietly, With the last surviving leaf. A whirlwind of longing and loneliness, Dancing on the empty sidewalk.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Birthday<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The deer in the woods blew the horn, I’m at home and I’m not going anywhere. He carefully and carefully lit a candle by the open window. Then the candle was blown out by a roving hooligan wind, Born in the twentieth year, In cornflower meadows.»Hello, wind bum, are you still alive?» I’m sorry, I didn’t know that today is your birthday…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
2\/06\/2014. Canada. the city of Brampton.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Embarrassment<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Autumn looks thoughtfully From the bridge, Into the clear mirror of transparent waters. The migratory geese filled the autumn sky with farewell trumpets. A lone horse is grazing in a meadow, Where there is a gray, vague negative fog. The white birches in the groves undress, embarrassed by Their nakedness.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
12\/09\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sunny paradise
\n(In memory of Aunt Tubo)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Swallows flew low across the fields, Nimbly racing after the dusty plow. Poplars rang white in the wind, and sultry summer reigned all around. Wildflowers were kissed on the lips, White, wandering butterflies in the meadows. Aunt Tubo was barking for lunch, banging on the plow share.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sounds flew — Klang! Klang! Klang!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
03\/07\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Separation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Gardens, half-naked trees and bushes are humming sadly in the autumn wind. Swans in the sky are trumpeting goodbye, Forest paths and roads are empty. The fall of leaves is dozing and delirious in a dream, The wind brings the leaves, then carries them away. If you only knew how hard it is for me to get over Parting with you, O beloved autumn!..<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
04\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thin moon sharpens the horns<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Evening fell quietly and subsided, Patterns from the distant stars in the sky. I stop halfway to listen to the frog choir. As if the clouds were plowed by a plow, They built yurts in the fields of the stack. Somewhere high above the evening meadow, a thin moon is sharpening its horns.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
17\/01\/2023.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lightning in the sky took root<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was pouring like a bucket of rain, Enjoying the summer rain. A gusty wind rustled the branches of the poplars and willows. Dazzling flashes of lightning flashed wildly and brightly in the distance, Spreading their roots into the sky like blue cornflowers of fields.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
20\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Insomnia<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The night is a burnt-out day at sunset in scarlet, over there, the lights of the stars are smoldering in the sky. Something is ticking quietly and monotonously, either water is dripping from the faucet in the kitchen, or the thaw outside the window is crying inconsolably, dropping tears from icy eyelashes hanging on the edge of the roof under the moon… But no, it turns out that the wall clock is ticking in unison with the heartbeat, in silence, like a time bomb. It was as if the silence was about to explode from the coughing of the janitor and the shuffling of the broom in the deserted, predawn gloom.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
25\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A swarm of snow flakes is swirling<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
With a snow cap pulled down to their eyebrows, They sleep in the frosty twilight of the house. Courtyards and roads are covered with snow, and winter draws patterns on the windows. The wood in the fireplace is burning with a bang, I’m listening to the howl of the blizzard by the window. Like thoughts of you in the light of a lantern, A swarm of snowflakes swirls.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
26\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Poems about the Motherland<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I fall asleep quietly, far from my homeland, Dreaming of my sunny land. Expanses of meadows and cotton fields, Poplar grove, bird’s nest. Floodplain rivers, country roads, Wandering winds of distant valleys. Rustling waves, the coast is gentle, Where bitter wormwood is silvered. Yellow catkins of spring willow, Apricot orchards, clay douvals. The distant cry of a donkey, a field in a haze, Grass wearing a veil of cobwebs. I love you, Motherland, body and soul, I remember the good, I forgot all the bad. I am proud that I was Your fiery Volcano in the white world!<\/p>\n
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22\/11\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Evening watering hole
\n(In memory of my grandfather Abdusalam Sayyidkhodja)<\/p>\n
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A cow mows in the distance, Echoes in the silence, and calls. The shore is flooded with sunset light, the river water looks like honey. The noise of sparrows deafened the gardens, poplar groves on the edge of the fields. At the watering hole, looking into the mirror of the water, I’ll give the horses a drink under the evening sky.<\/p>\n
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11\/11\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Time is like a squirrel spinning a wheel<\/p>\n
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Time turns its ancient wheel indifferently, like a squirrel. A quail sings in a clover field, Echoed by a rolling echo in the forest. A winding and deserted path, recklessly running Towards the horizon. She runs, runs, so as not to disappear, Where the distant road lies. The sea of daisies is swayed by the wind, The Mower mows the grass on the slope. Summer has been living for the last few days, slowly turning into autumn.<\/p>\n
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10\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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April wasn’t lying<\/p>\n
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The snowstorms have already made a noise, February has passed like yesterday. Turning days and weeks into a month, April came truthfully, he did not lie. As if all this was not real, but a dream, a white snowdrop woke up in a grove. Waking up the pre-suspended spaces, the titmouse sings loudly, bursting into a trill. Icicles shed joyful tears, the winds are caring and kind. Birches have turned pale at the river’s flood, beavers are swimming there…<\/p>\n
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15\/06\/2016.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Winter walk<\/p>\n
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The first snow, and for someone it’s the last, Has turned gray very young January. Who was born recently, poor, With a long and white beard. In the snowy silence, the engines have gone deaf, I wander along the shore alone, without a gun. Seagulls cry like women who are beaten by jealous husbands.<\/p>\n
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06\/04\/2018. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The wind is lonely at the gate<\/p>\n
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The August silence in the gardens, The summer is dozing, the turtle dove is snoring. The water murmurs indifferently in the ditch, the Butterfly sleepily feels the path. Centuries-old willows sway in the wind, Rustle along dirt roads. Like an outcast child forlornly, A lonely wind walks by the gate.<\/p>\n
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07\/03\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Time swung steadily on the swing<\/p>\n
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Mist snored peacefully like a cricket, Her cheek pressed against the glass of the window. The evening silence lay down wearily, the lights across the river twinkled sleepily. And the stars above the expanses of forests, The Rays, like the sting of a scorpion, sharpened. Time swung like a swing on the pendulum of an antique clock. The eyelashes of the stars are covered with frost, Probably the frost is going through the roof. The shining moon in the blue twilight Weaves the shadows of the trees at the gate.<\/p>\n
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03\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The autumn whirlwind<\/p>\n
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Outside the window, the maple trees turned bright red, Like red lamps in broad daylight. The birches are white in a deserted park, They pass by me in silence. The leaves fall from the branches quietly, Like the thoughts of a drunken poet. A whirlwind dances indifferently on the sidewalk, Not paying attention to it.<\/p>\n
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01\/08\/2019. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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An important guess<\/p>\n
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There is a snowstorm outside, a snowy night, The light went out again and I lit a candle. It’s cold in the house, the crickets have stopped chirping behind the stove. Spiritually satisfying hunger by reading, The whole family is shivering from the cold, scurrying. I think that’s where the terrible cold is coming from, it turns out that it’s blowing from the stove…<\/p>\n
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24\/07\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Admiring the moon, swatting mosquitoes<\/p>\n
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The moon rolls like a tumbleweed, Across the steppe of heaven, where the stars bloom. The evening twilight is deserted and bare, birches are quietly ringing in the wind. The peonies of lanterns are white on the street, Dropping their light onto the sidewalks. Swatting at annoying mosquitoes, I admire the moon alone in the garden.<\/p>\n
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26\/09\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Winter dandelions<\/p>\n
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Snow-covered dahlias were white, In the gardens with snow-white balls. It was as if they had turned gray from grief, Feeling that winter was just around the corner. A blizzard blew them out like a dandelion, So that the fluff flew weightlessly. And the trees in the garden, hugging each other, Were crying and singing In the snowy gloom. The snow flakes are flying like bullets, What a stormy snowfall, my God! Oh, how these lanterns of deserted streets look like blown-out dandelions!<\/p>\n
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21\/01\/2016. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Where the water lilies and lilies bloomed<\/p>\n
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The brooding August is at the end of summer, The water in the pond has already lost its memory. Brushing the grass without a comb is the wind, Busy with its important business. Knee-deep in the water, maned horses Silently drank their reflections, Where snow-white water lilies and lilies bloomed, quietly opening their buds.<\/p>\n
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09\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Waves come and go<\/p>\n
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Emerald green waves roll in, come and go back to the sea. The sunset’s reddened eyes are sad, And there are bizarre patterns of birds in the sky. Salty sea water, like tears, Rocks ships in the cradle of the waves. Sad ships say goodbye with horns, The evening bell is barely audible. They run to the shore and go crazy, dispelling dreams in silence. Rustling, they come and go, Like days soaked in separation.<\/p>\n
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20\/04\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The leaves are flying like sparks from a campfire<\/p>\n
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The song of summer has long been sung, The fall of leaves is sleepily delirious in the gardens. The wind blows through the deserted streets, covering my tracks with leaves. In the cold conflagration of autumn, the maples are rustling, Burning, blazing again. The fallen leaves are whirling in the wind, As if sparks from a campfire are flying.<\/p>\n
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19\/04\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Autumn solitude<\/p>\n
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It’s like sand in a deserted desert, And the winds are singing thoughtfully out of boredom. Leaving the gardens and expanses of forests, nomadic birds rush to the south. The wind wanders sleepily through the courtyards, The mown meadow melts in the fog. Summer has disappeared after the birds, and the autumn Garden is quietly flying around. The woodpecker does not knock on the trunks of the pines, the palm-like leaves fly. Silently, like a shepherd at a watering hole in autumn, He waters the sheep of the clouds.<\/p>\n
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07\/09\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The departing ship<\/p>\n
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The ship sailed, rocking on the waves, and I ran as fast as I could along the shore, waving at it, stumbling and falling. I ran to catch up with him, but I couldn’t. My ship sailed away along the ditch, made of a notebook sheet, with my childhood far away on board. He still floats, everything floats, across the endless ocean of the starry sky, on waves of clouds, quietly at night, a moon-ship over fields and meadows. I look at him as I did when I was a child, smiling and tears start to boil in my eyes.<\/p>\n
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20\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The rain is pounding with exclamation marks<\/p>\n
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Autumn wanders through the gardens and boulevards, Quietly, without disturbing the peace. Like the wind that walks on tiptoe, so sly and cautious. The half-naked garden dozes wearily, Crows croak loudly in the fog. The old janitor, gloomy and thoughtful, Shuffles with a broom in a torn quilted jacket. It’s raining with exclamation marks, Knocking on the windows, going crazy. As if warning us that winter is approaching with snowstorms.<\/p>\n
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22\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Autumn, I love your farewell rustle<\/p>\n
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These fallen leaves are not leaves, But an outfit torn off by the wind of the trees. In the park, the sullen janitor is angry, The birds are screaming across the seas. The trees, as if made of gold and copper, Drowsily sink into the silence of the city. Red-haired autumn, oh, kind lady, I love your farewell rustle!<\/p>\n
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27\/08\/2015. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Morning in the village<\/p>\n
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With a whistling whip in his hands, a herd of cows is driven by a shepherd, Across the ford of the river into the water meadows, Where the grasses grow succulent. A cuckoo is singing mournfully somewhere, and a mower is silently sharpening his scythe. The wind carefully wanders through the meadows So as not to drop dew from the grass.<\/p>\n
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18\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The wedge soared loudly over the river<\/p>\n
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The cranes screamed, not afraid of anyone, Before flying to distant lands. Like ballerinas, they performed a bizarre dance in waist-deep grass. A flock of fog sheep at a watering hole, As if the south was turning into the north. The cranes were flapping their wings, looking like a huge fan. The wedge soared loudly over the river, The autumn expanse emptied and subsided. Waving goodbye to the cranes, I wished them a safe journey.<\/p>\n
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13\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The wave rushed into my arms<\/p>\n
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When the waves saw me from afar, they ran towards me, overtaking each other. One of them threw herself into my arms, as if she missed me very much. The modest horizon turns red at sunset, Which often makes me petrified. You also ran like waves, I remember, and threw yourself on my neck…<\/p>\n
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18\/11\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Sunset silence<\/p>\n
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Shouting in unison over the river in the sky, Seagulls look down into the water. A man is sitting on a high cliff, Silently looking at the sunset. As if saying goodbye to the shore sadly, River boats and ferries are humming. As if they were not ferries, but in an evening pasture, calves and cows lowed for a long time.<\/p>\n
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19\/06\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The lilies sank into the pond<\/p>\n
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Autumn poplars and willows stand like a stork on one leg in the groves. A crane’s wedge flies proudly, loudly, smoothly over the fields. The leaves danced around, waltzed, and whirled. Like drowned women slowly falling into a pond, water lilies and lilies drowned.<\/p>\n
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26\/11\/2020.Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The file<\/p>\n
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I wander along the shore, my soul is at peace, As if I’m dreaming about the sea. The wind strokes with an invisible hand, The Astrakhan curls of the waves. The moon’s ice slice melts in the sky, the plankton of the stars in the seawater. The sea rustles through the waves, As if it were an archive of newspapers.<\/p>\n
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11\/12\/2020. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Whistling<\/p>\n
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The snow is falling in large flakes, The evil blizzard has subsided outside the window. The snow-covered field is white in the distance, The fire in the fireplace is flickering, burning. The snow swirls like a swarm of mosquitoes, glitters like foil in the light of lanterns. No, it’s not a kettle in the kitchen, but a train, whistling through the woods in the distance.<\/p>\n
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02\/09\/2017. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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A lark murmurs over the field<\/p>\n
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Like a songbird, my soul rejoices, I walk along a path through a cornflower field, breathing freely in the summer air, Like a fugitive, a prisoner in freedom. It murmurs over the field, believe me, I’m not lying, the Skylark is a celestial singer. Carelessly and amicably, White clouds of sheep graze on the meadow.<\/p>\n
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16\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Whisper<\/p>\n
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Oh, how those falling maple leaves look like the yellowed love letters I used to write to you by hand. The letters that you keep to this day and sometimes read without showing them to anyone, secretly wiping away your tears at midnight, whispering like falling maple leaves.<\/p>\n
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12\/10\/2018. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The long road melts in the haze<\/p>\n
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Everything freezes at noon in the fields, The sultry summer coos like a turtle dove. Poplars stare at their shadows, and the wind roams through courtyards and gardens. A distant road melts in the haze, Coastal meadows near distant marshes. There is a quiet dance of White butterflies where a cow grazes peacefully. I see dandelion fluff flying slowly over the meadow in the middle of the day. I’ll go, it seems, like my childhood, The hoopoe beyond the fields is longingly calling.<\/p>\n
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28\/03\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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I’m walking, breathing free air.<\/p>\n
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The dance of leaves is maddening, The sky is filled with the cries of birds. It’s like a willow tree leaning into the water and feeding the fish. It’s a bad autumn day, sluggish, And I’m walking, breathing free air. The brushes of the scarlet mountain ash bleed Like a wounded soul.<\/p>\n
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11\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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A tractor driver waves a skullcap at the cranes<\/p>\n
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The janitors are walking with a broom in their hands, The leaves are burning like witches on a bonfire. A river has drowned in the autumn fog, and migratory birds are flying across the seas. The forest is blackening in the distance, the expanse is bare, Where the tractor plows the land alone. The tractor driver, looking out from under his palm, waves his skullcap at the Cranes for a long time.<\/p>\n
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12\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Autumn weaves a veil of cobwebs<\/p>\n
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An autumn day, a deserted street, Strewn with fallen leaves. An old willow tree hunches over the pond, The sky has been plowed by someone. Geese hurriedly fly away in a shoal, To the south, which called them to itself. Without hooks and knitting needles, a pensive autumn Weaves a veil from a thin web.<\/p>\n
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05\/03\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Winter twilight<\/p>\n
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Snowflakes are swirling and flying, Resembling a swarm of annoying flies. They fly up to the windows, then fly up again, Light as dandelion fluff. They fly merrily, swarm around, Dirty sparrows sleep in the bushes. In the darkness, the blizzard is whistling and howling, The bed of the snow-covered fields is empty. The snow sparkles outside the window on a pine tree, Giving peace and comfort to the soul. The windows of the houses in the blue twilight on the snow, They pour their quiet light thoughtfully.<\/p>\n
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10\/01\/2021. Canada. Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The garden gate is flapping<\/p>\n
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The sun is rolling like a tumbleweed, Time is a dung beetle, stupid. It’s like the clouds are burning at sunset, the trees are sleepily taking off their sheepskin coats. The acrid smoke of the campfire, the janitor’s cough, The birds do not sing in the gardens and groves. The gate waves its wings in the wind To fly away with the birds to the south.<\/p>\n
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11\/06\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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My desk lamp is sad<\/p>\n
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The moon is silent, my breath is hushed, Healing my wounds. My desk lamp is sad, Like a street lamp in a fog. There are mosquitoes in the sky, and a freight train rumbles in the distance. God forbid that the street lights do not jump into the river from the bridge.<\/p>\n
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03\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Homeland<\/p>\n
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The crane’s wedge is high in the sky, Rushing like a wide gray river. The autumn forests are making a farewell noise, Dropping leaves, losing their peace. Oh, God, how desolately the Cranes fly over the fields and countryside! It seems that migratory birds also have a hard time saying goodbye to their homeland… The unknown, blue, cornflower-blue distance, Calls them to itself, pulls and beckons. Their voices, full of sadness and sorrow, hurt my soul.<\/p>\n
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22\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Horses graze knee-deep in the fog<\/p>\n
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The cricket crackles alone in the gloom, The moonlight penetrates through the clouds. The nightingale is silent, waiting, not in a hurry, Anthills of stars are boiling in the sky. The twilight of the crickets is going crazy, The sky is plowed like a field with a plow. Horses graze knee-deep in the fog, Heavenly silence reigns all around.<\/p>\n
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22\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The moon illuminates the snowy peaks<\/p>\n
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The sky looks painfully like a watering hole Where the horses were drinking their reflections. The stars are swarming in the sky, Lilies are blooming in the delta of the river. In the moonlit silence, I walk along the path, Steadily towards the lights of my Homeland, Having escaped from the stone bag, From my house, I mean. The moon is shining brightly over the expanse, She’s probably tired, it’s time for her to rest.I see that in the deserted twilight she is silently looking for a place to sleep in the mountains.<\/p>\n
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28\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Sunflower<\/p>\n
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How the sunflowers are sad in the evening field, seeing off the sun, sadly looking at the flaming sunset! How they rejoice in the dewy, morning fields, looking to the east, meeting the sun at dawn! Why does this mysterious sunflower turn around to face the sun and stare at it until it sets below the horizon? I thought, looking at the sunset, like an evening sunflower.<\/p>\n
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21\/09\/2019. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Leaves wishing for a soft landing<\/p>\n
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The trees, losing their golden leaves, Stand as if with an outstretched hand. The janitor is also not mad at anyone, There is peace and quiet around. Like a blue ocean, vast sky, sunny weather, no precipitation. I’m sitting, sharing bread with the birds, wishing the leaves a soft landing.<\/p>\n
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01\/01\/2018. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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An old cart was driving under the moon<\/p>\n
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A horse is walking, it’s a long way to the village, God knows what’s in the horse’s head. It seems that a lonely nightingale is singing loudly in the silence across the river. The horse was clucking dejectedly and tiredly, wishing it could drink water from the spring. The moon is shining over a distant grove, And the steady sound of hooves is on the road. Travel fatigue makes you sleepy, and the moon is turning white over the fields. A tired man fell asleep on the way, Sitting on the edge of a creaking cart.<\/p>\n
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11\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The epitaph
\n(In memory of the Russian poet Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin)<\/p>\n
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The seconds meanly and imperceptibly, Using a simple method, Secretly changed the cartridge of the poet’s revolver to a blank one in a duel… Oh world, you persecuted, shot, and hanged your best poets, and your skinny, crooked, hairy arms are covered in blood up to your elbows!..<\/p>\n
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01\/12\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The light bulb on the cord was on
\n(To the blessed memory of Sergei Yesenin)<\/p>\n
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The 60s of the XX century. Winter night. A light bulb hanging on the porch was on, swinging in the wind, illuminating the snow. Flakes of snow swirled like moths in the light of the light bulb. The wind was humming, snowflakes were whirling, and the red light bulb was burning thoughtfully, hanging on a cord and swinging softly like a red-haired poet on a loop.<\/p>\n
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16-11-2024. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Cranes fly hurriedly across the seas<\/p>\n
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The wind is whistling, the rain is drumming, The maples, willows and poplars are rustling. Winged caravans are flying south, roads and paths in the fields are empty. I see a screaming flock in the distance, Cranes hurriedly flying across the seas, As if flipping through the last pages of the calendar with their wings.<\/p>\n
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01\/05\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The moon was shining over the blue pond<\/p>\n
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Like sleepless eyes, the evening windows lit up in the distance. In the moonlit and deserted silence of the night, the lights of the buoys twinkled in the river. A desolate silence reigned all around, The moon wandered sleepily across the sky. She shone over the blue pond, Illuminating the water to the very bottom.<\/p>\n
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23\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Handwriting<\/p>\n
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I hear rustling of rustling clothes. These are the trees undressing in the gardens. A pile of leaves is spinning in the wind, Water has fainted in the pond. Thin cobwebs hang on the grass, Clusters of fine mountain ash have turned red. In the distance, somewhere in the draughty forests, deer trumpet for a long time. A boomerang of cranes is flying south, Which autumn has whipped up with a flourish. There is an inscription of migratory birds in the sky, Such illegible handwriting in autumn.<\/p>\n
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23\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Leaf fall is crying softly in the woods<\/p>\n
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Cranes fly loudly to the south, Noisily, measuring the skies with their wings. The winds are looking for each other and calling, The fall of leaves is crying softly in the forests.The summer has gone unnoticed, tiptoeing, Muffled mists are swirling over the river. The song of the summer days is already sung, The scarecrow is sad in torn clothes. The trees in the autumn hell are burning, they’re undressing, they’re probably hot. Cranes fly loudly across the seas, Creaking like empty swings in parks.<\/p>\n
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15\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Tradition<\/p>\n
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Tapping the thin strings with their feet, the spiders no longer play on the harp. The autumn days became thoughtful, People wrapped scarves around their necks. In the groves and forests, rustling thoughtfully, The Trees sing a farewell in a whisper. Like stormy applause, the leaves accompany the birds migrating to the south.<\/p>\n
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09\/02\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Letters torn to shreds<\/p>\n
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The wipers are silently cleaning the sidewalks, The songbirds have disappeared somewhere. It shakes the leaves off the trees, And October is scarlet in the groves and gardens. The oak forests and pine forests are noisy, And the birds of passage are calling to them from afar. The leaves are like my letters, which You once tore to shreds.<\/p>\n
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12\/01\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The player<\/p>\n
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Emerald green waves are running, the boat is rocking like a cradle on the pier. The dull sound of the surf is monotonous, The seagulls are screaming in unison over the sea. Let the sunset furnace burn and smolder from the clouds, scorching the pots. And I’ll listen to the seashell, Putting it to my ear, like a Walkman.<\/p>\n
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03\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Bath<\/p>\n
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Snow-white lilies bloom in your bathtub, where real green reeds rustle and frogs sing, blowing bubbles behind their ears. The water in it is so clear that even colourful pebbles and small fish are visible, which rush around in a shoal at the bottom, not being afraid of anyone. And you, not paying attention to them, swim, take a bath alone, oh naked moon!<\/p>\n
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24\/02\/2021. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Food<\/p>\n
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The cricket sings restlessly in the crack, The night is deserted, the street is empty. The moon screen on the wall is white, dirty sparrows are sleeping in the bushes. Insects fly into the light of the windows, The wind weaves the braids of the birches. The sky, taking care of the fish in the reservoirs, Pours food from distant stars.<\/p>\n
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31\/07\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Thoughts and words were frozen<\/p>\n
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The streets were silent in the blue twilight, The poplars froze outside the window. Frost glitters like silver on the trees, White silence reigns in the fields. The frozen saliva of winter hangs, The grass screams up to its throat in the snow. He is silent above the roof, as if the moon has frozen thoughts and words.<\/p>\n
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21\/04\/2020. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The bonfire of autumn has already been trampled<\/p>\n
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Like cicadas on willows and poplars, The desolate silence rings all around. A tractor turns the earth inside out in empty fields with a plow. Oh, how the birches and maples were scarlet, Burning In the cold conflagration of autumn! There are five-toed leaves on the skewers of the branches, They are fried and turned red. Now, the glowing coals of the scarlet mountain ash are smoldering in the middle of the pines. It’s a pity that the cold bonfire of autumn was trampled by passers-by in parks.<\/p>\n
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28\/12\/2017. Canada.Ontario.<\/p>\n
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The will
\n(To my son Temursultan)<\/p>\n
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I will leave you an inheritance of fields, Evening meadows where cows moo. Sublunary groves and oak forests in the distance, a path through the rye, forest roads. These starry twilight are blue to you, The songs of frogs are mute in silence. There are shadows on the whitewashed wall of trees, And the song of a cricket under the bright moon. Oceans and seas, Slopes, plains, snow-capped mountains belong to you. The lights that burn behind the fields, Birch forests, oak forests and forests. All these birds in the world that fly south in caravans are yours. Gray dandelions, a wandering wind, Misty fields that sleep. Tell them that you are the poet’s heir, detain the poachers and punish them. If they ask for the documents for this, You show them this poem.<\/p>\n
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21\/11\/ 2012. Canada. the city of Cambridge.<\/p>\n
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A note<\/p>\n
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Don’t call me anymore, knocking softly, like rain in the autumn silence, on my boarded-up window. I will no longer come out to meet you with my arms wide open. I’m not at home, that is, I left. Now I live in books and in my memory, from where no one can expel me.<\/p>\n
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06\/04\/2023. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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An old cart rides under the moon<\/p>\n
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A horse is walking, it’s a long way to the village, I don’t know what’s in her head.It seems that a lonely nightingale is about to sing in the silence across the river. The horse was clucking dejectedly and tiredly, wishing it could drink water from the spring. The moon is shining over a distant grove, And the steady sound of hooves is on the road. Travel fatigue makes you sleepy, and the moon is turning white over the fields. A tired man fell asleep on the way, Sitting on the edge of an old cart.<\/p>\n
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11\/07\/2017. Canada, Ontario.<\/p>\n
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Holder Volcano Member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan «Don’t be jealous of the birch trees, wife!» (Collection of poems) Holder Volkano — Abdusalomov Holdor Usmanovich was…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3720,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3712"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3712"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3712\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3719,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3712\/revisions\/3719"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3720"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3712"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3712"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/muvozanat.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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