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…
Broken wine glass,
Sunlight through trees,
Neon blinking to die.
Someone sits on a million dollar yacht
Somewhere
Thinking of suicide;
Someone lies bloody on the street,
Somewhere
Thinking of revenge.
Streetlights reflecting on broken glass like snow,
The rubbish bin with bad words written in spray paint,
With all the wrong spelling.
The rubbish bin in which the dogs sleep like donuts;
A man sleeps there too,
With hope
That people will be more generous to him tomorrow.
And having hope is reason enough to live.
One doesn’t need a million dollar yacht,
One doesn’t need to take revenge.
One doesn’t need
Sunlight through trees,
New neon lights,
Wine.
All one needs is hope.
Hope is a tool of the desperate,
The non-achievers,
People who sleep on the street.
The rich
Can’t have hope.
The gods
Can’t have hope.
The perfectionist
Can’t have hope.
So they commit suicide, rape, murder
Despite having
Wine,
Sunlight through their trees,
Neon signs for their shops,
Windows.
So they try to take away hope from other people.
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