Like childhood stories

​I’ve known hungover mornings
like childhood stories
still vaguely living
in my memory.

each of them
sedated by reminiscent
of what existed
only in my
imagination

like childhood stories
still vaguely living
in my memory.

totally
worth it.

A Russian Morning

It was a quiet morning,

The sun came up at an unusual time,

The night still ringing inside my head,

Fresh from the last night crime,

Stopped and waited for a second,

To recollect where I was,

The place was same, the colors were lame,

Still I felt like lost,

The crazy fireball in the sky,

With chilly winds setting in,

Tears on the glasses dripping down,

All together to curse me for my sins,

Untied laces on my shoes,

Planned lamely to make me fall,

Tripped and jumped and aimed for the grass,

But found in my way, a dancing wall,

The sun suddenly vanished,

The moon wasn’t available today,

I didn’t care about the stars,

Where the hell did they go away,

Her warm hands through my hair,

The scent of tulips lightened up my mind,

She was glowing or was it the sun,

Good thing was I wasn’t blind,

I was on my feet again,

With my head full of warnings,

It wasn’t anything unusual I said,

Just another of those Russian Mornings!