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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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Depression

 There is a smell in my room

Which I notice only after returning to it

After some time.

It might be

Those unwashed clothes,

Piss on the tiles,

A dead rat.

But why do I care?

We all do things to show others.

We clean our rooms

To show others it doesn’t smell.

But who will come into my room

Except me?

And the smell has been there

For a long time-

So long, that it might not be

Unwashed clothes,

Piss on the tiles,

A dead rat.

It might be me,

Rotting away within myself.

Not bathing the body,

Not wearing perfume.

Not bathing the soul,

Not searching if I even have a soul,

If I can still love,

If I can still look at the willows

As a beautiful creation,

Rather than a poor thing made to die,

Like me,

Like all of us.

Can I still look at a child

And smile?

Can I still look at a kitten near the rubbish bin

And ache?

Can I still look at someone

And make my soul believe

That they too have problems?

Can I feel anything?

Anything

Again?

Anything other than

This stink around me,

Coming from me.

Can I feel

Anything else

At all?


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