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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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Don't love me

 The artist

Does not care about paint on his hands

Until he has finished the picture.

The fisherman

Does not care about his aching arms

Until he has caught his fish.

I won't complain about you

Until I seize you,

Until you're close enough,

That your breath arouses the hair behind my neck.

But don’t come to me.

Don’t let me.

Ignore me.

Ignore me.

I cannot love you.

Not until you let me see

The canvas of your heart.

Not until you let me

Catch fish from the pond of your soul.

But don’t come to me.

Don’t let me,

So that I won’t complain

About you.

Don’t let me,

So that you remain the perfect painting,

The perfect catch

To me.


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