Woman’s Diary
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
My preview text is:
ROMANCE….
…You has asked one day
-Please , will pray for me…
Please, will pray for me
near holy flame.
And that sacred face
please, will kiss for me…
Divine icon by tear
you will sparge for me…
…Thirsty soul was prayed
simply fallen on knees,
and imploringly kissed
holy gilded frame…
Burning sorrowful tears
dripped on glass…under glass.
Drops of fondness last…
Drops of icon’s grief…
-This is miracle!-whispered
hoary lonely man-
-Woman weeps…icon weeps.
Under glass-Grace’s drip…
…Newly Winter’s snow.
I-by cheek at window.
City glitters below.
Round-nobody…I know…
But your breath I feel
by my neck…by my skin…
I has hidden your shade
in my soul’s labyrinth.
…Back for glass my time melts,
runs and flies as snowflake.
Town sparkles beneath
by glare gilt of igneous…
And I ask you for Sake-
pray for me now…please…
INERRABLE…
…All was for you from me…
But now –sadness…just sadness.
Fall-is my eyes. Fall –is my soul.
Our Summer gone,
Fall, note by note, has stole my summer’s song.
Warm doesn’t live here anymore.
Here only Fall…
She just came in and quiet stands.
She even didn’t ask
-Can I ?
She can…
From now-Fall is Goddess of the Land.
You too were gone.
It was my fault…
My churlish fault.
It was as burst of slough.
I beg your mercy…but…but headlong you has flew.
Nonentity of being-lair of yours.
It was my fault, as usually, of course.
And now I’m for you-disfigured fallen leafs
behind your proud back.
Come back….I beg…come back…
But you don’t want to hear my “Please”.
Again I fall and fall…
But say-who is
without sins?..
Without faults?..
Who is?..
You are?...So…
You can judge and you can throw
onto my sinful head your sinless stone…
NECKLACE OF THE MEMORY...
Night’s veil…
And constellations of the silver stars
pell-mell had scattered on the silk.
Don’t know why
I wait
and hopelessly about sonic flow think…
My memory by little hammer rap.
Again
I feel and drink
the tune of sound
by your voice…
I want and wait your call…
You-Orpheus of my hearing absolutely sharp.
Your voice-
my sweet blade in the heart,
not long ago coveted my choice.
Imaging that I’ll hear
again
you’ll say:
-Hello...I am here…
I’ll answer on the highest
tune of passionate unbroken line
-Hello...Hi..
I think...Excuse me, it’s wrong number…
And it’ll be on necklace memory of mine
another warming bead of amber…
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Book Details
About the Book
An observation of life, Woman’s Diary, a collection of poetry by author Natalia Govsha, shares a reflection of women who have surrounded her, women with their own life and their own love, joy, sorrow, and suffering.
From passion, to splashes of love, to mistakes, break ups, revival and forgiveness, forgiveness and hope, Woman’s Diary shares these and more. In the poem, “Rosebud” she writes: / Invite me on a nightly dance. / I’ll dance with you. I’ll give you chance. And you will lead in dreamy move
at edge of glory moon. It can be tango, maybe waltz. /And one... and two... and three... and glance! / There’s only we without crowd, / …
Woman’s Diary explores the lives of women and their souls—tender and mysterious.
Praise for Woman’s Diary
“Natalia expresses the deepest feelings of the heart through her poetry. Grand desire, ravishing ecstasy, and intense craving emerge from these poems which are very powerfully… the human heart as it expresses true heartfelt feelings!”
—Annie Papazian, Owner/Photographer, Lifetime Photos. Kirkland, Quebec
“A very wise man say … I believe Robert Frost say this … ‘there are three things, after all, that a poem must reach: the eye, the ear, and what we may call the heart or the mind. It is most important of all to reach the heart of the reader.’ Your poems always reach deep inside my heart Natalia … and pull me inward your amazing world of poetry ….”
—Nancy Pifko, Moundsville, West Virginia
About the Author
Natalia Govsha has been writing poems and prose all of her life and has been studying alchemistry and philosophy for many years. She lives in Mississauga City, a province of Ontario, Canada, with her family. This is Govsha’s debut book.