Must never fade from memory.

"Each poem I write is a thread in the tapestry of my soul. These verses are not merely words; they are fragments of silence given form. I call my collection The Tear of Silence, for it is born from the quiet places within me – the moments between breath, the spaces between words. Let these pages speak where my voice cannot."

Oh, silent river, where do you flow?

Through valleys of light, through shadows below?

Do you carry the dreams of those who sleep,

Or secrets of hearts that ache and weep?

Your current winds through the forest deep,

Whispering truths I long to keep.

Oh, river of silence, take me too,

To lands unseen, where the heart is true.

“This morning, I wandered through the halls of the Hermitage. The paintings and sculptures seemed alive, whispering truths I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear. A thought clung to me: is intuition a blessing, or does it deceive us? I couldn’t let it rest…”

Is intuition a prophecy or a power,

That reason cloaks in the shadow of fear by night?

A sculptor, loud and angry,

Or a mocking, devilish, cunning spirit?

Perhaps the vision of distant horizons

Shields us from the pettiness of care?

This highest force of nature—

A coin with the double-headed eagle.

Boundless, with sorrows diminished,

To plunge through the depths and soar

Above the shooting stars that carry afar,

Mingling reason with feeling into one braid.

The kingdom of shadows bows its knees.

Veiled by fire, a mournful whistle,

Or the murmur of indecent persecution,

Or the creak of unsealed chains.

The power of intuition is corrupting,

Trying to justify doubt,

And in the whirl of lies, pleading and tearfully

Weaving balm for the soul.

Premonition, at times, lies buried

In the immeasurable riches of rumour,

Bloated, alluring with unease,

Iron shackles on the dreams.

Under the onslaught of heavy artillery,

The blind guard the blind with care.

Muted, shameful, and pitiful,

Day by day, we lose each moment.

Oh, if only that spark of revelation

Could join with calculated reason,

Flooding persecutions with calm wisdom

And transforming them into a crown of triumph!

To taste the game without praising the sinner,

To acknowledge the struggle without succumbing to it,

To know oneself and set a goal,

To believe in it wholly, without guile.

«The stars were my companions tonight. I sat by the window, candlelight flickering beside me, and wrote about love. “True love,” I mused, “is like the stars – constant, guiding, yet untouchable. It lights our way, even in the darkest moments.”