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…
I can write poetry
Because I am baffled by my thoughts,
Like a child
Baffled on seeing the moon in daylight
For the first time.
I can write poetry
When a topic is given.
But it would be as fake
As a conversation with a friend
When my parents are around.
I can write poetry
Only thinking of myself;
Thinking how it would free me
From pain,
From angst,
From too much happiness
That makes me awkward.
I can write poetry,
And I will write poetry
Because it is a mirror for my soul to look into,
To make sure it is in right shape.
Poetry
Is no escape.
It is looking at our shattered lives
And writing it down
For all to see.
Poetry
Is terrifying,
Because people
Look into the well of your soul
And drink water from it,
Expecting it
To never go dry.
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