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…
The walls darken
Around switch boards.
The cars splash mud
On drying clothes,
Again and again.
Because clothes and walls
Don't shout.
They bare
The sweat,
The dirt,
The mud.
The walls wait
To be painted in brighter colours
Than they initially were.
But we use the same colour
Because we know it will look good,
Until the switchboards darken.
The clothes wait
To be washed again
And hung far from the road.
But we hang them
There itself,
So that others can see
That we wash clothes well,
Until they get splashed on.
Again.
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