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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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Complete and unabridged

 They praise my poetry,

But they just don’t get it.

They praise my poetry,

As if I sit down and try hard,

As if I squeeze it out and it drips from me

Like an orange from a juice commercial.

No. I create nothing.

There is an anthology in me;

Complete and unabridged.

There is an anthology in me,

And I just rip out what I want.

There are

So many conflicts,

So much rusted iron,

So many broken bulbs in me.

They praise my poetry.

But that’s all they see.

That's all they see,

Because I’m afraid they’ll hate me

If I show them more.


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