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…
The bartender had an anchor tattooed on his shoulder,
And a body;
The finest of Rodin's works.
He is a social connector,
A dumping ground for everyone's mental crap.
They cut their pencils and drop the wood on him.
And he takes it
Without complaining,
Like any dustbin having space.
The bartender pours
Beer,
Wine,
Water.
Everything but the water will have more foam than needed.
Everything but the water will not be what they ordered.
But it doesn’t matter.
They don’t come to the bar to drink.
They come to the bar
To find excuses to talk with this young fellow;
The best human,
The greatest listener,
The true perceiver who doesn’t judge.
They come here for the man.
But they take the beer for confidence
To open their mouths to him.
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