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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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Hope is

Hope is a hill;
We can walk down faster than we can climb.
Hope is a light
At the end of a tunnel that might close with falling rocks
Before we reach it.
Hope isn’t a rainbow through a grey cloud.
It is a rainbow
Where there shouldn’t be one.
Hope is luck,
But it isn’t easy to get.
One must search for it,
Like all things in life.
And the hope to begin the search
Should be created by us alone.
And the hope to search for hope
Should start from us.
Then it goes on,
Getting bigger and bigger
Like a descending snowball.
Then it goes on
On it's own.
A forest burns from the fire coming from a single tree,
More than one arrow can be shot at the same time from the same bow.
Hope is luck,
Hope exists.
But to see it,
One must know misery,
One must visit the burned forest of one's heart
To awe at the vastness of the land.
One must earn hope
To see it.


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