Larisa Rubalskaya is one of the most popular Russian poets, whose poems about men are distinguished by astonishing frankness, subtle humor, and a profound understanding of the female soul. Her lyrics about men are always sincere conversations about complex relationships, devoid of falsehood and clich\u00e9s. In Rubalskaya's poems, men appear as real people, with their weaknesses and strengths, and a woman's perspective is full of irony, tenderness, and the bitterness of disappointment. Her poetry resonates with every woman who has experienced love, separation, hurt, and hope. This collection includes poems written in the poet's signature style\u2014with her recognizable intonation, everyday details, and philosophical approach to the eternal theme of gender relations.<\/p>\n
\nMen don't cry, tears don't suit them, They're incapable of revealing themselves completely. But if they leave, they leave for the end, And that's their truth, and that's their fault. Men are silent when they should scream, They lock themselves in their own pain. But a woman will sob and forgive, And live without him\u2014against her will. Men don't cry\u2014they just drink, Drowning out their melancholy with cigarette smoke. And the tears accumulate, but find no outlet, And ultimately become a spiritual dead end.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHe was wrong<\/h2>\n
\nHe was wrong, but he didn't admit it to me, He left, slamming the door early in the morning. I remained in silence and darkness, With a broken heart, with the pain of deception. Years passed, he never returned again, And I live and pretend that things are easier. But that resentment and painful love Live inside me like unhealed cuts. And I know for sure: he will remember me more than once In moments of revelation. But it will be too late - I don't believe in us, I will not forgive that nightly insult.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nGray hair<\/h2>\n
\nThe gray hair at his temples suits him so well, His gaze is tired, but kind and honest. He no longer rushes off to a love flight, He has become wiser, more respectable, the world with its nonsense, With its endless lies and falsehoods has become cramped for him. He now chooses peace and quiet, Not ready for new passion and further. I look at him and sigh: Alas, I am too late with this tenderness. But gray-haired men are like autumn, alas, Handsome, but no longer warmed.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nYou didn't love me<\/h2>\n
\nYou didn't love me, you played and lied, You gave me flowers and empty words. I believed in you, as if in a holy altar, But you simply took what they gave you, a fool. You didn't love me, but I waited for a long time That you would wake up one day and understand everything. But my hopes, like ash, burned out, And now you are alone in the autumn rain. You didn't love me - well, thanks for the pain, For the lessons that life teaches us. I've learned to see through men's falsehood And now I don't believe in pretty words.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA man in his forties<\/h2>\n
\nA man over forty is no longer a boy, He knows the value of every day. He doesn't build castles, doesn't write books, He lives as best he can in this earthly world. A man over forty knows how to appreciate What once seemed empty. He can be silent and simply love, Without demanding sacrifice from his loved ones. A man over forty is reliability and stature, Even though youth is somewhere in the distance. And if he loves, he will stand, Like a rock, amidst the stormy land.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nDon't wait for him<\/h2>\n
\nDon't wait for him - he won't come back, Don't cry for him, forget him. Let your heart still beat painfully, but not for him. Don't wait for a call, don't wait for a letter, Don't waste days waiting. There's another life ahead, a different one, And there won't be that guilt in it. Don't wait for him - live for happiness, For the sun, for another love. And he will remain as a mistake, as bad weather, As an episode long forgotten by the side.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA man's whim<\/h2>\n
\nA man's whim is a strange thing: He wants tenderness, but rejects affection, He demands extraordinary love, But he himself cannot take off his mask. A man's whim is like a child, Now he's offended, now he's a hero again. And a woman has to learn from the cradle To understand his mood. A man's whim - forgive him, Resign yourself, accept, do not argue about anything. And one day he will say: "I don't understand, Why do I need this women's home?"\u00ab\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nAfter the divorce<\/h2>\n
\nAfter the divorce, he immediately found another, young, stupid, empty. And I was left \u2013 with the children, with the house, with the daily grind, with old grief and a broken heart. After the divorce, I walked around in tears for a long time, blaming myself, thinking about us. But time healed, and it became clearer: He was no prince, he was only weaker. After the divorce, I became wiser and angrier, I learned not to trust words. And I realized: happiness is not in him, but in me, And I will never return to his shores.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA strong man<\/h2>\n
\nA strong man is not one with fists, Not one who is strong in body and soul. A strong man is one who can see the truth behind words, and not empty lies. A strong man does not offend, Does not humiliate his woman. He protects, cares for, forgives, And honestly says: "I love you." A strong man is a rarity these days, But if you meet one, cherish him. After all, it is a joy, not just a burden, To love and be loved by him.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHe changed<\/h2>\n
\nHe cheated on me\u2014and I thought I wouldn't recognize him. He comes and smiles, as if nothing had happened. And I remain silent, although I understand everything: In his eyes\u2014another, not my home. He cheated on me\u2014and it's so painful, That I don't even have the strength to cry anymore. I've apparently become involuntary for him, And he once loved me so much. He cheated on me\u2014forgive or leave? That's the question that torments me. But I know for sure: the old path Will no longer exist\u2014it's burned to the ground.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMan-child<\/h2>\n
\nA man-child is always playing, He expects to be pitied and caressed. Responsibility is beyond his capabilities, He loves to be forgiven. A man-child\u2014you won't get bored with him, But you won't be able to build a real family either. He wants freedom, he wants to fly, And everyday life and worries are not his cup of tea. A man-child is love for a time, Until you tire of raising him. And then you'll have to unburden yourself And build a life without him anew.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nLate love<\/h2>\n
\nLate love is special, with less passion but more warmth. It doesn't scream, it's heartfelt, like candlelight at the end of a long journey. Late love isn't rushed, requiring no vows or grandiose words. It simply is, and within it lies all the wisdom of centuries lived. The late love of a mature man is a gift from fate for the soul. There's no deception, no gameplay, only the truth\u2014live and breathe.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nWithout him<\/h2>\n
\nWithout him, I was lost at first, I couldn't eat, sleep, or live. I called, cried, and searched for a way to bring him back. A year passed without him\u2014it became easier, I got used to the silence in the house. I realized that life hadn't become poorer, I simply needed myself. Without him, I learned to be free, not to depend on the moods of others. And now, when I meet noble men, I will not forgive myself for my past falls.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHe asks for forgiveness<\/h2>\n
\nHe begs for forgiveness\u2014he's on his knees, swearing it won't happen again. But I know the price of these captivity, I've seen this spectacle and this darkness more than once. He begs for forgiveness\u2014his eyes implore, he says he can't live without me. But I'm silent, and the tears freeze\u2014I don't have the strength to forgive anymore, even though my heart gnaws. He begs for forgiveness\u2014but it's too late, my dear, you've hurt me too often. Now my love has grown cold, and I won't let you play the role with me.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe men leave<\/h2>\n
\nMen leave\u2014suddenly, quietly, Without explaining, without letting us know the reason. They tear the anchors of everyday life away, And leave a woman in ruins. Men leave\u2014and we are left With the question: "What did I do wrong?" And for years afterwards we laugh at ourselves For believing in their sweet darkness. Men leave\u2014but we remain, Stronger, wiser, sicker, more alive. And new happiness will come to us and flow, When we become kinder to ourselves.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMale pride<\/h2>\n
\nA man's pride is an unbending thing, sometimes stronger than common sense. He won't call, even though his heart is breaking, just so he doesn't seem like an empty weakness. A man's pride is a lock on his heart, where tenderness and longing are locked away. And a woman waits, losing patience, and cries into her pillow from the bitter impasse. A man's pride is both a curse and a force, it destroys, but it also creates. And how much love it has already ruined, it's impossible to count\u2014that's the count.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMeeting after years<\/h2>\n
\nA meeting across the years\u2014and my heart sank. He'd aged, but his gaze was still the same, so dear. I smiled, as if nothing had happened, As if there had been no pain between you and me. A meeting across the years\u2014we talk about nothing, About the weather, about life, about our children. But inside, everything screams: "Come back to my home! These years without you are like a stone on the chest of the empty!" A meeting across the years\u2014we said goodbye, We parted ways again. And only in our souls did we quietly whisper: "What a pity that we can't start all over again..."\u00ab\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHe doesn't know how to love<\/h2>\n
\nHe doesn't know how to love\u2014that's the problem. He wants to, he tries, but it doesn't work. He speaks words, but they're like water\u2014slipping through his fingers, never finding them. He doesn't know how to love\u2014he's used to taking, never giving a drop of warmth in return. And a woman will suffer for years, trying to set his heart on fire. He doesn't know how to love\u2014let him go, don't waste your life and years on him. Someone else will be found who will love you completely, who will become your true destiny forever.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe last meeting<\/h2>\n
\nOur last meeting is in a cafe, at a table, We drink cooling coffee in silence. What can we talk about when everything is gone, When between us there is only a cold abyss, nothing more? Our last meeting\u2014you will say: "Forgive me," I will nod my head, wearily agreeing. And we will go our separate ways, To where our love is no more. Our last meeting is the end and the line, Beyond it a new story begins. It may hurt now, but emptiness will come, And after\u2014new lime, to happiness.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMen and women<\/h2>\n
\nMen and women\u2014the eternal question, How can we understand each other in this world? We speak different languages, seriously, And each remains on their own planet. Men and women\u2014we are still drawn to each other, Seeking love, warmth, and comfort. And even if it doesn't always work out, God, But living without each other is a waste of time. Men and women\u2014that's our destiny: To love, to make mistakes, to suffer, and to forgive. And that's the whole meaning of our bodies And souls, ready to seek each other.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Larisa Rubalskaya is one of the most popular Russian poetesses, whose poems about men are distinguished by amazing frankness, subtle humor and deep<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1473","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stihi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1473"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":175418,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473\/revisions\/175418"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1473"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1473"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1473"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}