a⠀⠀p⠀o⠀e⠀m скачать в хорошем качестве

a⠀⠀p⠀o⠀e⠀m

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ © Russian poet Eduard Asadov 🎙️ Read by: [your name or channel] Music: Beautiful Piano Main - andrismusic This is a poem about unspoken love, missed chances, shy hearts and the courage we find too late. If you’ve ever loved someone in silence — this is for you. ✨ What did you feel? Leave a comment below — your thoughts and stories mean the world! 🔗 Share this poem with someone who understands. ❤️ Like, comment, and subscribe for more poetry about love, heartbreak and hope. P.S. Translated from the original Russian. The meaning and rhythm remain — honest and true. Lyrics: He'd planned a hundred times to make it clear — To speak of love, directly, bold and true. But every time she simply came too near, He blushed and mumbled nonsense through and through! He meant to speak with clarity and might, But fate would twist his tongue to clumsy moans. He'd quote from Tolstoy, babble out of fright, Or sit in silence, still as weathered stones. His courage drained, he'd slowly homeward tread, Dejected, crushed by all he couldn't say. Yet with her photo, propped beside his bed, He spoke with wit and candor night and day. Before that simple amateurish frame, He'd find his voice, and be his truest self. He'd share his dreams, his guilt, his secret shame— The things he'd never dare with someone else. In tennis whites, she stood beside a net, A breeze had teased her hair beneath the sun. She held it down — the moment lingers yet — Half-squinting with a smile, mid-laugh, mid-run. And he would gaze, unable to look away, And whisper words more tender than he'd known. Then sigh: "You always smile and joke and play, While I just drown in love, alone, alone..." She was in everything — her eyes, her laugh, That haughty, heady music filled his head. He'd hear it in his sleep, that lilting chaff, And even dreaming, curse himself with dread. But then — the hour struck! A noble flame Arose in him: "Enough!" his spirit swore. "I’d rather die than live without a name — Today I leave in silence nevermore!" Through city din he marched, his shoulders square, A warrior’s step, defiant and complete. To win or lose — he didn’t even care, As long as he would never face defeat. But something failed — a stumble, fate, who knows? Again, he flushed; again, his words got stuck. **Again, absurdity and gibberish arose... Oh bitter tongue! Oh everlasting muck! “That’s it!” he cried, out on the boulevard, And drew her photo from his coat once more. He slumped onto a bench, his soul all charred: “So much for being brave — my final score!” "You’re laughing, right? That I still act so shy? **My star... my beauty — tell me, make it plain: **Do you love me? Will you be mine, or lie? Yes or no?" — And then he heard: "Yes, again." What was it — madness? Heart’s hallucination? A maple whispering its autumn lore? He turned — and there, in twilight’s revelation, She stood in flame, just steps behind, once more. He could have sworn: she'd never looked so bright. **"Yes, my tormentor! Yes, you speechless man! **Yes, you poor coward! Yes, my one delight! Yes — my beloved! Yes, I always can!"