My childhood didn't taste like oranges

It's hard to remember my father cheerful
He always came back thoughtfully
As if the sky had fallen on his shoulders 
 Sometimes he used to bring me two oranges
 Along with the daily bread
Maybe he considered this would compensate
The lack of a hug

Watching other children
Playing with their parents
Preparing them for life
That moment only the sun
Could wash away my tears

His hands were never mine
In the shadow of the moment
Only our common blood remained awoken
Thrown into indifference
I learned that a mountain of ice
Will never melt
Not as long as a cold heart
Is still beating

Ice cubes on a body of clay

You spread your heart up to the sky
Maybe searching for untouched wings
The distance between two hugs
We measure it in full seconds
Blank ones
I feel you so fragile, so innocent
In my palms
Like the sand from the top of the mountain
A nest of light

That's the only way I can gather
Sun and ice
I let another day pass
In the city of love
Until blood breaks
The iceberg

If you ever walk here
You'll find a dry land
Waiting for the teardrops

Sounds

Music is the  nectar of heavens
Poured in royal goblets
An elixir for the soul
Each atom decomposing
Into vibration
And breaks the silence

Music is the mantra of the angels
On the other side of stars
A colorful dream

The mystery of the spheres
I listen
I live
I reborn as sounds

In the church of my heart
A harp
Is chanting the prayer

I've never met a happy poet

I've never met a happy poet
Just pale shadows swaying
Between past and present
Words coming to life
Incarnating into a god
With full powers

On the other side
The eyes unseen start begging for tears
Heavy eyelids close
Because of those sleepless nights
Here's the love
You used to fear

Syllables gather on paper
Changing direction
Create an universe out of nothing
Verses flowing lik a summer rain
On the shoulders
A breathtaking poem

Well, I've never met a happy poet
Today all words are asleep
To reborn tomorrow
In the book of pain
As an unwavery statue

Я не встречал счастливых поэтов(russian translation by Nadia Padure)

я не встречал счастливых поэтов
только качающиеся тени
между вчера и сегодня
волшебство слов начинает жить
перевоплощается в бога
полного сил

с другой стороны
невидимые глаза вымаливают слезы
имеют тяжелые веки
может бессонные ночи
а вот и любовь
которой ты так боялся
слоги собираются на бумаге
изменяют свое значение
из ничего создают целое
строки текут как летний дождь
на плечи
поэзия вдоха
видишь я не встречал счастливых поэтов
сегодня умирает их слово
завтра рождается мысль
в книге страданий
поэзия непоколебимая статуя