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We simply did not feel when the anxious October rain restlessly pounded on the poetic window of Lyubomir Levchev, we simply did not see when the gentle youth matured into a serious young poet who persistently sought his own style in poetry. L. Levchev's first poems on the pages of the youth press were sprinkled with many stars, with very gentle romance. But he quickly stepped back to earth. He looked around. He saw the restless face of our modernity, he sought new paths to poetic truth. Very soon he turned into a proud contemporary of ours, who is admired by the majestic victories in Space, who is no longer carried away by the sweet, ancient sounds of grandfather's gadulka. He wants to live with the rhythm of a hurried, breathless, dynamic time. He brings something new with his verse, energetic and expressive, punchy and spiteful, he wants to capture the complex diagram of the psyche of the contemporary, the fragmented, impressionistic thinking of the civilized urban man. The lyrical hero of L. Levchev's poetry lives with the disturbing changes on our planet, with the profound changes that are taking place in our socio-economic life. This social unrest is one of the attractive features of Levchev's poetry. Unlike other young poets who waste time on the detailed and insignificant, L. Levchev is looking for a new civic voice in poetry, but expressed already with newer linguistic means. And L. Levchev's new collection of poems is entirely turned towards modernity, towards construction, towards the life of our youth. He wrote some interesting poems about construction. His poetic chronicles of our construction days are not boring protocols, but verses distinguished by a fresh construction romance, a life-affirming feeling, a constructive pathos. L. Levchev manages to poetically elevate our labor construction reality, to poeticize everyday labor, to break the banal framework in its depiction. And in this direction he managed to write a number of interesting poetic works. In the poem "Kremikovsko nacholy" there is a nice atmosphere, a new figurative vision: The picture is not at all beautiful - A field. A brown fallow. Above it the sun - low and foggy. And nothing else. Who dared to sow the seeds of dreams here instead of wheat?... The furrows smoke, smoke mysteriously, like the hearth of a proto-Bulgarian fortune teller.