On The 7th Of November... Poem by Yaroslav Shtets

6 minutes left and you were there, but I wasn't well aware,
When your ineffable eyes met me and my stare, beholding you from the front part of New Rock shoes till barely blonde, rather palely gold hair;

Yet the mere thing - it made me ache, was the pure way the lady smiled and authentic glimpse - whilst being comprised did hide all the pain and part of the sadness,
Which were shattered by passion - solely the glow revelation.
And the start was seemingly from scratch, though it had its very beginning;

We were strangers, didn't know each other, yet the Clock did say another,
As our paths did cross at times when both we needed,
When you were sitting there, painting wallpers* - the word was a witty misspelling,
Yet made us laugh in the veracity sequence as though it was something obsessive;

And somewhat I recall the time when we did talk about the Art -its features,
What is hard and what is not when you are composing;
And you said: 'The complexity - in face proportion, depending on the case. Likewise, the shades - are getting similar when staying for too long.'

The days, the months and all the ups and downs will pass, but I will know you;
Because you were there - when I needed you the most,
But lately, the proper day will come - I will disappear;
So, either gently smile or learn to barely hold your horses.