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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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Being remembered

 We do so much to be remembered

But we don’t do it right.

A falcon in flames does not burn the sky;

It just kills itself.

Lines in water do not stay.

But we set ourselves on flame

And jump into the river.

And the river will forget us.

There will be no rock,

Curve,

Depression in the water where we fall.

We should set ourselves on flame

And run for the forest,

So the dead trees will remember us.

And we should draw our lines

On rocks.

Rocks erode

And new trees spring up in the dead forest.

We can’t be remembered forever.

But we can be

As long as the rocks stay

And the trees stay dead.

But we can be

For a long time.


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