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…
They shut me in a room
With no lights.
But thank fate,
There was a window.
They shut me in a room;
And I sat on the bed,
Trying to make out the feet outside,
Through the gap beneath the door.
But they left
And I stopped looking.
I prayed,
I banged on the door,
I wept into the pillows.
But no one came.
I broke chairs,
Tore apart books,
Hit my head on the wall.
It bled;
And I hit my head some more.
But no one came.
There was so much pain
They gave me;
There was so much pain
I gave myself.
But I wanted to live,
Even if nothing would change.
But I wanted to live,
So I threw my heart onto pieces of paper
And threw the paper into the bin.
It filled the bin,
It filled the floor,
It filled the room and suffocate me to death.
Nothing would change
But I wanted to live;
So I became a poet.
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