My appearance just provokes grin large,
In those who never suffered much.
Anyone, who only knows how fuss to make,
Will tell: “He is clown and rake”.
Many wonder: “What’s his aim?
What is he doing, work of brain?”
Was born as a poet – to love everyone,
It’s predicted by fate – my star’s only one.
Nothing more important than to have
The people that give fire to my heart.
They will understand for what I create
I want to live, seeing tear in mate,
In one, realized who is he,
Having heard all composed by me.
Composed, spending sleepless night
In kitchen, with guitar, and in dim light.

Alexey Shmakov (1988-2005)