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…
There is a straw in the glass.
But there is no juice.
There is a straw in the glass,
Never removed,
As if it was kept there to suck up air;
As if the air in the glass is somehow different.
There is so much absurdity;
Threads of so many different colours through the hole
On the same needle.
There is so much absurdity,
That logic is useless.
That's why
We have art,
That's why
We have those friendly lads with tattoos,
Doing crazy stuff on a packed road.
That's why
We have mystery,
Poetry,
The dry leaf that balances on the rim of the bin
Without falling in or out.
They build systems,
They build roads
That claim to reach places.
We have tried to curb the absurdity
And failed miserably.
We have tried
And realized we shouldn’t try.
We have tried
And learned to embrace the different,
The poetic,
The absurd.
There is a beauty in it.
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