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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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The creation of art

The soul empties the heart with a straw

And leaves the ice cubes to melt alone.

Then it vomits

Because it didn’t like what it drank,

And art is made.

The melting ice makes sure

The heart doesn’t go empty

Before it's filled again.

Because the empty heart

Will die,

And there will be nothing for the soul to drink.

Nothing for the soul to vomit.

Nothing to create art.

 

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