Oh, wondrous garden! Your whispers plead,

As sunlight strains to sow its seed.

Entwined in leaves, a tender breath,

Where life defies the grasp of death.

Oh, gentle garden! Your roots run deep,

Through hopes we dared to sow in sleep.

Your blossoms reach, yet yearn to flee,

Bound in the veil of eternity.

The skies erupt with radiant flame,

But you, my garden, remain the same.

What joy, what grief, your soil has bled,

Yet still, you bloom where angels tread.

My sweet, I’ll weave my dreams for you,

A cloth of whispers, soft and true.

For even at the edge of strife,

You hold my heart—you are my life.

“There are poisons that seep through the soul, silent yet all-consuming. They speak in whispers, but their echoes are deafening.”

Envy, fear, frailty, pain —

The heart beats beneath this shadowed strain.

Venomous words spill ash and fire,

The tongue, a blade, reveals its ire.

Pain tears apart the soul inside,

Subduing the living with each tide.

A single glance of jealous spite,

And the spirit falls to endless night.

A darkened cell enshrouds the brow,

Eclipsing all with solemn vow.

The sunbeam falters, lost, denied,

Where once the pathways opened wide.

Compassion stirs for hearts that bleed,

For souls ensnared by hollow greed.

Through circles they wander, bound and blind,

By burdens of their own design.

“Let the heavens judge, for justice finds its way through storms and tears alike.”

Let them weep who spurned our love,

Let the heavens rage, the storms above.

Let lightning carve their fleeting lies,

While justice howls through endless skies.

I ride the steed of broken dreams,

Through shadowed plains and moonlit streams.

No chains can bind this heart’s decree,

For pain shall yield to destiny.

You turned and said, “I shall not stay.”

Yet now your tears betray the day.

Why linger in the halls of strife,

And haunt the echoes of my life?

Ashes of hope, embers of disdain,

You scorned my soul, but not in vain.

For from the shards, I rise anew,

Beyond the reach of what I knew.

The winds I loosed now hunt you down,

Their whispers echo, fierce and profound.

Run swift, yet know my heart is whole,

Untamed, unbroken—an eternal soul.

“I have lost people I loved with all my heart—my mother, my father, my fiancé, and a few close friends. A time of mist and shadows, where loss, love, and the quiet force of endurance shaped me. Strength grows, not in ease, but in the crucible of pain, when the mind and heart ache beyond words. «Так закалялась сталь»—this is what they say about me. For to live without trial is to drift through an endless void; a hollow existence untouched by fire.”

What is life without honour or failings?

A hollow march through fleeting unveilings.

What is honour bereft of strife?

A fragile veil, untouched by life.

No steel is forged in gentle streams,

No soul awakens from shallow dreams.

It takes the storm, the blinding rain,

To carve the heart from grief and pain.

Each loss a weight, a silent stone,

Each love a light, though dimly shown.

Yet through the darkness, strength is born,

A soul remade, though bruised and torn.

What is the path without its thorns?

A barren field where nothing mourns.

What is the heart that knows no ache?

A fragile shell that dares not break.

The cliffs may call, the seas may rise,

The stars may dim in shadowed skies.

Yet still we stand, though bent and scarred,

For life’s true gift is won through hard.

I lost my loves, I lost my ground,

Yet found myself where loss abounds.

For honour blooms from what we bear,

And failing teaches how to care.

To fall is human, yet to rise—

That is where all true glory lies.

For what is life without the fight,

Without the darkness to birth the light?

The journey bends, the edges fray,

But courage leads the heart away—

Away from void, from hollow strife,

To face the fire, and call it life.

“Dear Diary,

Hundreds of pages by classical writers—Turgenev, Zola, Dumas, Tolstoy, Bradbury, and countless others—have offered me wisdom, yet no clear decisions. Thousands of experiences weigh on me, yet the answers remain veiled. I need to meditate, to let my mind find its quiet. For in the stillness, the mind whispers its loudest truths. Sometimes, silence is the only answer.”

Thoughts creaked beneath the shadowed glow,

A frozen tear began to flow.

The cricket’s tune, both sharp and frail,

Wove threads of sorrow through the veil.

The weary sky, a solemn shroud,

Held secrets whispered soft, yet loud.

Destiny lingered in quiet guise,

In midnight’s hush, where silence lies.

A tempest churned within the soul,

Its surging tide beyond control.

It swept through memories, love, and pain,

And left behind its quiet stain.

The moon, a sentinel of dreams,

Hung low to catch the heart’s extremes.

Its light, though faint, revealed the way,

Through tangled thoughts and fleeting day.

For in the night, when all seems still,

The mind resounds, its voice will fill

The empty spaces we once fled,

And truths arise where silence led.

“You are different, as I am—blue, green, deep, light, shining, strong… but never wrong, ocean. My soul is the ocean. And only with you, with your fierce winds and boundless power, do I feel calm. The sea holds confessions no land can bear. It whispers truths, carries burdens, and drowns regrets.”