Skip to main content

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…
Post a Comment

Be wood

 Everyone

Wants to be the chain around the bull's feet,

The ship with iron sails;

Iron men,

Iron women.

But they don’t see the ocean we are all in.

Whatever it is made up of,

It is an ocean.

And iron in the ocean

Will sink.

The chain may be strong,

The sails may not have a single dent in them.

But they sink.

It does not matter whether it's broken or not.

Everything that sinks

Is broken

No matter how perfect.

So be less strong;

Not too less but a little bit.

Be wood,

But not the paper that comes from it.

Be wood,

So that a hole in you

Won't make you sink.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Can't death come quick?

 A flower fell off a bouquet, And someone stepped on it. And they all went about with their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The act of hastening death. Everyone went about their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The dewless petals, The red colour blackening with the creeping shadow of death, The stalk separated from the head Like with a guillotine. It might have been plucked from it's family, From the other flowers. But it's okay. They'll die as well. It's just that this flower will die faster. But in this world where everything happens in a rush, Can’t death do the same?
2 comments
Read more

Dove and rose

 She has tattooed a flower upside down under one eye; A falling rose wrapped in white silk, With two doves scooping down to grab it. But they never get it. And the rose will still have it's petals, It's silk, Its youthfulness. The rose will keep falling Through this valley between tears and talk, Always closer to the tears. And the doves keep falling along, Wasting their time. Well, Do they have a choice? Become a Patron!
Post a Comment
Read more

I'll tell her

 I want to tell her, But she might be seeing me as a friend. I want to tell her, But what if she doesn't like it. I've always been that dreamy kid Sitting in some corner, On some bench, Ignored, Marked as absent by the teacher. I've always been that dreamy kid Everyone gossips about. No one has come close. No one has the courage To look into my eyes and see the lava Popping bubbles in me. No one has the courage To look at these hanging spikes of ice, Waiting to fall on the young deer with broken legs. But she saw it. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she at least counts the popping bubbles. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she's the only one who wants to. She'll push me downhill And I’ll break a rib or two. But the spikes of ice won’t fall on me. I’ll break a rib or two. But she'll take this young deer home, Wrap him in a blanket And put him near the fireplace. I want to tell her. And I have to tell her, Because she's too smart  To understand what I feel. She too...
Post a Comment
Read more