The rain is loud now, As if a giant feet arises from the clouds To step on the river under the bridge of my heart And disturb it in such a way That the sails of ships bend, And the water touches the bridge from below, Tickling it to sorrow… The rain is loud now, But actually, it has always been like this. You were there once, And I never felt it. But now, All there is Is this sorrow That tickles me from inside, As if it wants me to laugh, Yet doesn’t let me At the same time…
We are
Running taps,
Loudspeakers in sound proof rooms,
Apples thrown away after a single crunch.
We are something
To someone.
A bucket should be placed below the running tap,
The loudspeaker should be taken out,
The apple will be eaten by something non-human.
We are something to someone.
We aren’t spoons without holders,
Hand-less clocks,
Broken bulbs wanting to give off light.
We are neon lights
Shining brightly;
But the light not going far.
We are neon lights
And together we light the bars,
Supermarkets,
Broadway
Brightly,
But the light not going far;
Yet bright enough to look good.
Just bright enough
To put a lonely man to sleep
When combined with warm tea,
Cool jazz
And rain outside.
Just bright enough to be beautiful.
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