Yury
Viktorovich Petrov

Then, in the nineties, in areas of new buildings
My story began with restructuring, changing the foundations,
These endless strange obsessions
Which seemed about to hurt us:
Burning trolleybuses, hypnosis sessions on television ...
There was a lot of mystics among the familiar, everyday,
Coming along with the music of Metallica or Onyx,
Straight from the linen hung on the balcony.
Strange, but for me, still, childhood is spring,
And every time the snow melts, like scraps of sleep,
I see a courtyard flooded with sunlight
So lively that, leaking between the curtains,
A light gust of wind, he makes me
Dream of a world that I still know so little.
And falling asleep under the quiet reading of mom,
I have retained the feeling of this miracle over the years.
I remember well this feeling of trembling in the stomach -
Kitchen knife knocks, something is fried on the stove,
I'm already tying my shoelaces in the hallway
And I go out into the yard, the anxieties of my parents in spite of.
There, where the birds singing, some cries, children's crying,
On the school playground knocks a basketball
The painted graffiti of transformer shields are buzzing
And somewhere in all this chaos, a small point - you yourself ...

© Petrov Yury 2009