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…
A man walking on fire,
A woman on horseback going to war,
The band playing on a ship
Going down
In the middle of the Atlantic.
They say
Burned feet is burned feet,
A dead woman is a dead woman,
A dead band is a dead band.
Really?
Do you really not feel
The romance,
The beauty in the risk,
The guts,
The fire.
Do you really not cry
Yet feel brave.
Do you really not cry
Yet feel strength.
Why do you try so hard
To sit in a tent
Where the fire takes up most of the space?
Why do you try so hard
To pour molten iron into a drinking glass?
Let go.
Get out of the tent
And run for the cold hills for help.
Pour the iron
Into iron.
Let go.
Don’t try so hard to hold it in.
Let go.
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