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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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My poetry and me

 They look at me and think I'm a sunflower

Happy to do what the other sunflowers do.

They look at me and see

A light,

An ice sculpture,

A pretty leaf.

But the leaf is really only pretty

After it becomes orange and dies;

After it lays down a carpet of dead bodies

For us to walk on.

They see these beautiful things in me

And fail to see the darkness,

A bridge in the forest missing planks,

The cracked windshield that could fall in anytime.

They look at me

And they look at my poetry

And say they never match.

Before you say that,

Look again,

Look deeper,

Feel deeper.

And if you can still say that again,

Then I should die.


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