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…
I told you and you didn’t listen.
You wanted to see my soul.
You wanted to know where the poems came from.
I opened it for you
And you found yourself alone in the cold;
Alone with the trees at night,
Dubbing words for the wind
Badly.
You found yourself
Alone with the bears,
The crying white faces,
The panther that lost its eye to it’s own claw.
And you felt dark hands
Dragging you further into chaos;
Further into me.
But you resisted
And saw light again.
You resisted
And walked away
Saying nothing.
Because you saw nothing pleasant
To share.
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