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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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Old man in the street

 Old man on the street.

No address.

No college education.

No extra shirts,

Trousers,

Handkerchief.

Only a stool and a guitar.

Only music.

The dirty kerchief with six coins.

“Why can't he be like us?”

They ask.

Why can't he have

An address,

College education,

Extra shirts,

Trousers,

Handkerchief;

A clean one?


No. That’s not what they're asking.

They're asking,

Why can't he get up early

Without enjoying it?

Why can't he have breakfast in a rush,

Without enjoying it?

Why can't he bath, dress, comb hair,

Without enjoying it?

Why can't he do some work

He'll never enjoy?

Why can’t he lead a miserable life

He’ll never enjoy?

They are jealous

And talk ill about him.

But he is happy.

Because he is an old man in the street

With no address.

No college education,

Extra shirts,

Trousers,

Handkerchief...


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