Unquenchable thirst of love…

Yes, I was dumb, then fire of affection
Revoked the answer in my soul
So Earth before the dawn, so still, it is just waiting
But with the first ray clamour will unroll

Since then the Love's my genius and judge
And beauty is my highest mentor
And soul of mine, the humble shelter
Is filled with feeling, I can't hide,

I sing the praise, but not in vain
Each line is warmed with loving flame!

Sonnet 145

Oh, that's indeed is a kind of torture
The bow touches vibrant chords…
The violinist's young, but each accord
Resounds like a voice of fortune.

And gently violin surrenders
And he is ardent, as a hun
And wise, just like the runes creator.
Soul, like a snail, went to the sun

And opens up towards the music
And, trembles like a singing violin,
The spell of music make her sing
She soared, clear and illusive

In glowing worlds, so high above
When filled with miracle of love…

Sonnet 146

These autumn flowers in vase:
Bright asters, roses, bunch of cranesbill…
I give respect to nature thus —
Which joins forms and author's will.

I make attempt in every phrase
To surface facets so precise,
That filigree would not entice
Won't be deceptive as the strase.

So that like diamond, perfect sense,
Was clear and concise, not flabby,
And sacred as the walls of abbey…
Oh Lord, give me talent and such strength

To vent the soul enchanted cry!
So lucid to all passing by…

Sonnet 148

I crave to know all people as the dearest ones
To realize the events inner wheels
To see effect and reason, evident and clear:
I want to be, more sapient and wise.

Absurd's the monster, scariest of all!
…And due to it men draw their swords —
Because of it all funeral and grief,
And people are more fierce the beasts!

And cry of woe is now in vain,
No word can ever reach their ears:
Cause now's deafness for our souls to tear!
Misunderstanding is the endless chain…

And I grew week before the locked front door…
But love had found the key so long ago!

Sonnet 149

There's time for everything and turn:
And summer follows the spring's route,
As night's successor, comes the dawn
And the ovary becomes the fruit.

The clocks tick on, and thus each moment,
Dictates us sequence of the lines.
And words are linked within the sonnet.
And generations grow and die.

Haste is the ghostly, bad mistake
And lingering is just a guilt.
And every failure and success:
As a pirouette on sandy brink

But breaking all the terms and frames,
Love definitely will come in May!

Sonnet 150

Love is a battle without mercy
Without tears of compassion.
Intrigues, snaring, fire of passion… —
Through all the times, in all the verses.