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…
Child,
Drawing on walls.
Getting beaten
For drawing on walls,
Making them dirty.
Child,
Drawing on paper.
Getting laughed at
For drawing a bad picture,
Making the paper dirty.
Child,
Mixing paints
For the first time.
Laughed at
Because he used
The wrong shade of blue.
Adult,
Given canvas.
Given paints.
Given brushes.
Expected to paint
A masterpiece,
With the entire world watching.
It doesn't happen.
What happens
Is self destruction.
Using ones blood
Instead of paint.
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