Vera Polozkova is a poet whose poems about love are imbued with sincerity, heartbreak, and a subtle sense of humor. Her lyrics often address the theme of male love, revealing it in all its complexity and contradictions. These poems avoid idealization, but instead contain vivid emotions, recognizable situations, and a unique authorial voice. We've compiled 15 of Polozkova's best works, in which she speaks of passion, pain, hope, and disappointment, and how love can simultaneously elevate and destroy. Immerse yourself in the world of her poetry to experience the full depth and beauty of this feeling.
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Longing for the future
I don't yearn for the past, no. Everything was as it should be. I yearn for what isn't, for what will happen in absentia. For you, whom I don't know, for the hand that will touch mine, for the words I will write, remembering our meeting, about her. It's strange, perhaps, yes. To yearn for unseen days. But perhaps love is always an expectation in one's own dreams.
About love as war
Love is not a waltz by candlelight, nor a whispered confession under a moonbeam. Love is a battle, it is wounds, it is glue, mending the cracks in a great heart. We build barricades of pride and lies, throwing ourselves into the stake, sparing no effort. And only when everything around us collapses, do we realize the battle was only for you.
Poems about him
I write of you as of a city, Which I visit only occasionally. I know every street, every note, But I sense in it some crack, a gap. You are my secret, forbidden, beloved, A city where I always want to disappear. But I fear that one day, when I wake up, I will see That you have been wiped off the face of the earth, As if you were never here.
He doesn't love me
He doesn't love me. And that's okay. I'm used to other people's sadness. I draw endless spirals on the bathroom glass. He doesn't love me. So what? I'm my own world. Only in my heart there's a little bed of unspoken grievances.
Paradise Lost
We built a paradise from chance touches, from furtive glances, from inappropriate words. But paradise turned out to be only a web of deception, and I, as always, was left alone. You left without a trace, only the ashes of hopes and fragments of dreams. And I understand that this was always just an illusion, a phantom of emptiness.
His hands
His hands smell of tobacco and wind, And a little of a home where I didn't live. They are warm, and they hold some kind of faith That love still exists, for now. I could drown in these hands, Forget about everything that happened before we met. But I'm afraid that one day, on cold nights, I'll wake up and see only the empty evening.
Conversation with him
We talked about something and nothing, about the weather, about books, about foolish dreams. But in every word, in every movement, in everyone, I searched for the answer to the question in your eyes. You were silent, and I understood that you knew, that I loved you more than life itself. But you only smiled and decided nothing, leaving me in this eternal struggle, in this silence.
He's leaving.
He leaves like a train leaves the station, leaving me alone on the platform. I wave after him, but he doesn't notice, carried away by thoughts where I'm not needed. And I understand that this is the end, that we will no longer meet. But in my heart there still glimmers of hope, that one day he will remember me, even if only a little, even if only for an evening.
My man
My man is the wind in his hair, The sun playing on my skin. The silence in his strong arms. That's all I need, it seems. He's not perfect, he's full of mistakes, But I love him just the way he is. With his scars, his pain, his smile, With his eternal pursuit of his dreams.
Letter to him
I'm writing you a letter that I won't send, Because I know you won't understand. I'll tell you about my love, about my weakness, About how hard it is for me without you, how I can't breathe without you. But you won't answer, you'll just read it, And throw this letter in the trash. And I'll be left alone, as always, With a broken heart and a bitter aftertaste.
His absence
His absence is an empty room, Where my sorrow echoes. It's unfinished tea, it's an unfinished book, It's all that reminds me of what was, what has become. I try to fill this void, But nothing helps, nothing heals. His absence is my eternal melancholy, It's my pain that I cannot bear.
He's back.
He came back as if nothing had happened, With the same smile, with the same look in his eyes. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, But I could only whisper: "How I waited..." He hugged me, and I felt That I still loved him, as before. But in my heart there was a fear that one day He would leave again, leaving me in his ignorance.
Dreams about him
In my dreams he comes to me, And says that he loves me. But in the morning I wake up alone, And I realize that it's just a game. A game of my mind, a game of my heart, A game in which I always lose. I try to forget him, but to no avail, He will forever remain in my soul, in my consciousness.
His silence
His silence is the most terrible sound, which tears me apart. I try to understand what he feels, what he thinks, but he is silent, as if he does not exist on this planet. And I am left alone, in my silence, with questions that have no answers. His silence is my eternal torment, it is my pain that I cannot heal.
Love and Time
Love, like wine, grows stronger with age, But time is merciless, it changes everything. We grow old, our faces change, But love remains, it does not fade. It lives in our hearts, in our souls, It connects us with an invisible thread. And even when we are no longer together, Love continues to live, it is not forgotten.