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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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Goodness of the old

 The creeper that climbs highest

Has done so

Only because it has lived a long life.

It grows fruits that feed people,

And flowers that feed birds.

And it is given all the love

Because it can give out so much.

Old people are respected

Because they are old,

Not because they deserve it.

They might have given

Fruits to people,

Flowers to birds,

Their smell to houses.

But it is not because of their hard work,

Just like the creeper 

That never had to work hard

To bear fruits.

It comes

When it comes,

And people feed off it.

It is not given;

It is taken.

The old

Do not give out love,

It is taken;

Stolen

To empty their heart

Which already lacks so much.

They lack

Because they've given out

In their youth.

They've given out 

When they could give.

So they don’t give anymore.

People just take from them

And respect them

For allowing them

To take.


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