As long as I can remember, my dad has always loved literature. Poetry held a special place in Slavic culture, so growing up in the former Soviet Union, our humble little home was always filled with books—both legal and illegal. The KGB would check in on our inventory from time to time, but alongside the spiritual books smuggled through the Baltics, you’d find The Odyssey, Shakespeare, philosophy, and the classics—Pushkin, Solzhenitsyn, Blok, and many more.
 

When our family immigrated to the United States in 1989, there wasn’t much time for poetry. We all had to learn the language, adapt, and somehow rebuild our lives in a foreign land.
 

But after all the kids were married and the grandkids started filling the house, my dad began to write. And write he did. The words poured out of him like a spring, often keeping him up into the early hours of the morning.

My hope is that you’ll find his words inspiring and thought-provoking. May his wisdom stir your heart, make you ask deeper questions, and, at times, bring you comfort through the quiet truths found between the lines.

Напрасно лютуют стихии и грозы. Смертям всем бушующим наперекор
Тот чёлн одолеет свой путь непреложно,

Ведь с Небом у смелого был уговор.