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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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Batteries and water

 Old men

Wearing T-shirts

The other way,

And searching for its tag

Behind their necks.

Of course,

They don't find it.


Old men

Carrying radios

Without batteries.

Not knowing

How to put the batteries.

Still carrying it around.

Getting laughed at.

Of course,

They don't hear it.


Old men

Watering plants

With cracked sprinklers.

All alone.

Not buying another one.

Not knowing

Where to buy another one.


Of course,

They don't care.

Because 

No one

Cared for them.

No one

Put batteries

In those radios

No one

Watered

These plants.

Why does a crumbling plant

Need water?

They ask.

Because it is only crumbling.

Not crumbled.

Why put batteries 

In old radios?

They ask.

Because they still work.

No batteries.

No water.

Only old men

Broken without these.







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