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 world isn’t a happy place,
But neither is it sad.
Life throws apples at us;
We can run,
Get hit,
Or catch them to take a bite.
There is no love or hate;
There are just the apples
And the heavy stones.
There is no love or hate;
There is only what we do
With what comes our way.
And what comes our way
Has no purpose;
It's aim isn’t you.
It hits the sunlight,
The butterflies,
Silent heroes
And loud fools.
It hits what stands in the way.
The world isn’t a happy place,
But neither is it sad.
The wind that does not rest keeps the child's kite dancing;
The boy smiles and the wind smiles back.
The sun that burns away makes the world smile,
And the sun smiles back.
There is a blur in sadness;
A character in the hieroglyphics we cannot understand.
There is a blur in sadness
That makes one understand oneself.
And when one understands oneself long enough,
One laughs at life.
And the laughter makes us forget about the wounds,
The scars,
The stones coming our way.
And we laugh at life until the stones kill us
Without we knowing it.
And as Bukowski says,
“Death will tremble to take us.”
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