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…
A black wall.
Rebels sticking posters
Over the ‘stick no bills' sign.
Rebels sticking posters.
Rebels ripping off posters.
Yet a part of it
Remaining.
These posters
Are like the rainbow;
Pretty on it’s own,
Yet making the hillsides ugly
Because it doesn’t fit the scene.
Rebels throwing bottles
Of rum,
Of wine,
Of Cola;
None of them full.
No one has the courage to do so.
These posters
Are like the rainbow;
Pretty on it’s own.
Yet making the hillsides ugly
Because it does not fit the scene...
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