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Loud Rain

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…
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Mad poet, mad poetry

 I stay awake in the night

Chewing gum,

Spitting,

Chewing gum again.

I stay awake in the night

To write.

They say you have the whole day.

Yes you do;

A whole day

To listen to someone else,

To speak for someone else,

To be present for someone else,

To write for someone else.

But I want to write for me;

I want to write poetry-

Love letters to my own soul,

Music score for my heart.

So I chew more gum,

I spit,

And drink coffee again and again.

And I take a walk 

Through the veins in my heart,

Through the misty paths of my soul.

The veins may be throbbing in flowers,

Or deadened by the cold.

The paths may be drawn over mountains with vultures

Or valleys with hungry wolves.

But I walk through

Without weapons,

Without maps,

Without hope.

And I cry into my pillow

Or laugh at the bug hurling itself into the lightbulb.

I may lose a leg or kill a wolf;

But I never let the vultures or wolves kill me.

Broken

Or in one piece;

An adventure is an adventure.

And my psychiatrist

With a tumbleweed for a brain,

Does not understand the joy I go through.

He wants to ‘help me', it seems.

Fuck him;

He thinks I suffer without sleep.

He doesn’t understand the joy I go through in the night

After taking a walk through my own heart and soul,

And writing a travelogue on it

In the form of poetry.



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