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…
The pigeons are here everyday.
I now sit by the window, watching them.
One pooped on my head yesterday;
But I still sit here.
They tell me more than people ever will,
Than books ever will,
Than my fuckin' education ever has.
Pigeon poop is injustice;
My entire roof is covered by it,
But I only wash it off
If it falls on my head,
If it makes me stink.
By day, I watch these birds
Make sounds,
Make love,
Make nests.
By night,
I still sit by the window
With my cat
And a can of warm soup,
Steaming;
And listen to jazz
Coming from the bar below.
And the rain,
The rain
Puts me to sleep
Near the window.
And the cat will stay in my lap,
Resting.
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