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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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Writing poetry

 Why am I still awake?

Something 

boiling in me.

Something

Wanting to come out.

But I keep it in me,

Tying it with chains and strapping it

To my heart,

So that it will feel my heart beat.

It will know that I have a heart.

And maybe;

Just maybe,

It will quiet down.

But mostly it won’t.

So I’ll have to stay awake at midnight

To let it out

Without punching myself in the face,

Without cutting a vein,

Without being dumb,

In the only way I know how.

That only way

Is poetry;

Burning in me

Like fire trying to melt a broken bottle,

So it won’t become a pain to some careless lad.

It only hurts me.

It should only hurt me,

Because I chose to get hurt.

I chose to hold the fire long enough

For the firewood to come.

And when it comes,

I get the paper

And write.


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