Love of the stars
On the suburb of the Universe
the Beta star has lighted up.
I am here to make a verse
For those who are grown up.
His Majesty the Alpha star has seen her
and has fallen in love at first sight.
His nights has become so bright,
and somewhere even white.
At once he has sent her a ray of love
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Where To Escape?
You are running ahead
instead of thinking where.
Your heart is beating at a crazy speed,
it has it’s own flair.
You are swallowing salty drops of tears,
You do not hear the jeers,
You do not feel the rain
But only the unfair pain.
Hurts tear your soul apart.
Who cares about your broken heart?
You want to scream, even to roar,
You can’t stand this pain any more.
You want to smash all on your way,
His love was just a play.
At the moment you are blind,
You are getting out of your mind.
It’s so hard to breathe,
You are clenching tight your teeth,
You are trying to gather your will in a fist,
So that your emotions to resist.
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Torments of love
There are moments in life
when you feel like to cry
and don’t really know why.
Your destiny gives you chances
to satisfy your fancies
But they are not always a success,
sometimes even a stress.
Yes, you splash out emotions
like an angry ocean a whale.
But what remains in your soul?
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Love Triangle
Late rainy autumn was standing near the window,
she was waiting for the wind to come
-Where are you my naughty fellow?
-Where are you caring along, my charm?
She was irritated by his carelessness,
she was angry with his frivolity
But still admired his appearance,
and still was charmed by his self confidence.
Autumn was always a woman,
red haired and very susceptible,
a little bit older with less mammon,
a little bit jealous and over particular.
And wind always changed his mood,
sometimes he was tender, sometimes rude,
sometimes he wooed and wanted to see her nude.
He wanted to have love affairs with all:
with spring and fall,
with winter and summer,
sometimes even with scandals and drama.
He asked autumn for understanding,
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Under The Moonlight In The Park
Under the moonlight in the park
Young lovers had an evening walk.
His muscles you could see in the dark,
She was like a thin fragile stalk.
All the time the guy talked.
For a bet he crossed the bay
And it was on a stormy day.
He fought with the devils stream,
He heard the petrels scream.
How brave you are- she said,
If it were me I would be dead
For any money I wouldn't cross that bay
I am a terrible coward - she wanted to say.
But he interrupted her, kissed and said:
You are my dearest sparrow-coward.
The stars were shining like silver nails
Ready to tell them fairy tales.
But all of a sudden as from the ground
Two strange figures of men appeared
No one else was around and…
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Once Upon A Time....
Under the moonlight in the park
Young lovers had an evening walk.
His muscles you could see in the dark,
She was like a thin fragile stalk.
All the time the guy talked.
For a bet he crossed the bay
And it was on a stormy day.
He fought with the devils stream,
He heard the petrels scream.
How brave you are- she said,
If it were me I would be dead
For any money I wouldn't cross that bay
I am a terrible cowered - she wanted to say.
But he interrupted her, kissed and said:
You are my dearest sparrow-coward.
The stars were shining like silver nails
Ready to tell them fairy tales.
But all of a sudden as from the ground
Two strange figures of men appeared
No one else was around and…
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The language of flowers
The language of flowers was born in the East
and today this tradition still persist.
Having a lack of communication,
being unable to show it on their faces
the women of East created the language of flowers,
it could show their love power,
it could show their mood,
it helped them to be understood.
Once it had appeared as the language of communication
it turned into the method of admiration,
it turned into an art,
this language has become so smart.
In the Victorian epoch
the language of flowers was used
to express the secret feeling,
each flower, each color had a certain meaning.
The language of flowers still exists today.
The one who presents a red rose wants to say:
I love you so much,
I need more than a touch.
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A parable about a real woman
There were six men in her life
And they all loved her, but...
Their love was so different.
The first one was very rich.
He loved her because she was beautiful.
He just wanted to have a doll,
To demonstrate her to everyone
And listen to everyones' saying:
'Wow! What a beauty you've got! '
So, she had left him.
The second one loved her because he loved sex
And all the time in bed he repeated:
'Oh, you behave like a whore!
I want you more and more.'
She was fed up with him and left him too.
The third one wanted her to give birth to 11 boys
As he wanted to make his own football team.
She wouldn't say that she didn't like football or children
But....11 boys! She just imagined their noise.
The forth man was a famous sculptor.
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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My Opinion
What is happiness?
What is loneliness?
What is love?
The questions I asked above
we ask ourselves & others often
up to the end, up the coffin.
I will tell you my opinion,
it is not the only one out of million.
That one is lonely who doesn’t love.
He walks his life on a slough.
People are like flowers
which bloom at a certain hour.
When the time comes
they show their charms.
A good gardener with patience
waits appearing the fragrance.
The one who loves
let aroma out of his heart.
His love is a beautiful art.
That one doesn’t know loneliness,
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A Voice In the Wildness
I hate and I love.
How much I hunger
For the days when I was younger,
for the days when I was really free,
for the days when I was a real me.
And what is happening now?
Has the world turned upside down?
I do not say any more “Wow! ”
Nothing surprises me.
I can only realize
this horrible situation
with discomfort and even frustration.
Am I on another stage?
Is it connected with my age?
I don’t think so.
I can see today the youth
who can’t find the truth.
Isn’t it strange that
having two higher educations
I am on the edge of starvation?
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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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