Details |
Timurs Boicovs Poem
Wounded bird showed up to the branch,
still—
though the wing was wounded...
it preached its vibrant melody
to give unto the rest,
hearts full of grief.
And so did the sun
seteth itself against the woods,
clipeth its sun-ray rosary
on the verge of the bird's horizon...
And so—
now each preach
was becoming louder,
and each note
now became higher.
With each drop
of the shimmering water—
from the branches,
purified by one's heart—
glorified God on Earth,
as it is in heavens...
revealing
both darkness
and the light
before His marvellous art.
No human
could comprehend,
but only feel—
so they could see
darkness
no more...
An orchestra,
purified by one's love
for his Father's creation.
Copyright © Timurs Boicovs | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Timurs Boicovs Poem
We’re all taking a lesson called “life,” and so did the desks behind us.
They shift, they move—so that we learn, obtain the knowledge, support each other.
Some remain, and so we call it “love.”
Those who do not shall still find their place.
For there is a place for everyone in this endless classroom.
For now, we sit in the front row, yet soon we may find ourselves at the back of someone else’s classroom.
Yet still, we will find our place—as they should too.
And if nobody stays, remember:
Father is behind your back.
He stays. For He remembers you. He holds
your heart from a heartbreak, what feels as if it could break you.
Do not worry, for He is near.
Let go, for we are all still learning.
And with love and kindness toward one another,
here we are in “life,” a lesson of our own.
For if you do good to people,
then thou shalt be with Him, unafraid.
And if you send paper planes from your desk—
planes of glory, not sorrow—
then thy name shall be preached in heaven.
Thus, you should teach the desk beneath you
with care and love for one another,
for Father has called it “holy.”
For you will see the puzzled tiles—
turning, shifting in all directions,
separate, confusing at the beginning of the journey—
yet resolving into light, called “His merciful glory.”
And into a single image, clear—
the one from the heavens,
for people called it “peace.”
And within that painting—everything:
your soul, your purpose—everything.
For it is called “your Father’s journey”—heavens.
Copyright © Timurs Boicovs | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Timurs Boicovs Poem
The odd, faint of blood had soaked the sinner’s body.?
It was the blood of crying repentance unto Christ.
Laid upon a shore of stones,?the body rested where the rocks cut the holy waters.?
On its surface, shimmering stars were scattered by the hand of God.
Justice had been restored-at the cost of one’s life.
And the Sun now glorified one’s soul-for he’s who had witnessed it.
Yet what is the cost of justice?
It is the cost of one’s sanity..
Copyright © Timurs Boicovs | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Timurs Boicovs Poem
I will offer my heart, so that it may be yours by the right.?
I will give you myself unto sacrifice, that you may live.
You may break my heart, that I might suffer while yet young.?
You may stab me with a knife, because you believe you know better—?
better than God, in whom all things are created;?
better than the devil himself, in whom things are destroyed;?
better than the world and all people unborn;?
better than angels, whose will is in God.
Better than my words—?for the deed of your will shall speak thee,?
and in that deed be revealed the evil within?of one who drives his knife into the innocent children.
Copyright © Timurs Boicovs | Year Posted 2026
|