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 look down this valley
And see the mist hide the river.
I look down this valley
And see the flowers blur to purple the mist.
The river cries
And bubbles gather and pop around rocks.
The river cries
And I know it is the river without seeing it.
I look down this valley
And feel I'm looking into myself.
I don’t see the chaos in me,
But i know what it is all about.
But those people who do not know about the river
Freak out on hearing this sound
Seemingly coming from nowhere.
And they blame it
On ghosts,
The forest,
My madness.
They look into me
And get stuck in their own maze of mirrors.
They look into me
And get trapped in a world
Where nothing makes sense.
They'll get it
Only after I put it on paper.
They'll get it
Only after I tell them about
The forest,
The flowers,
The river.
They are too afraid to explore,
They are too afraid to know the chaos
Behind my smiling face.
And let them be scared
So that they never get to know me.
Let them be scared
So that they'll want to read my poetry.
I thrive on the fact that I am real
Only in my poems.
I thrive on the fact that
No one really knows me.
And I am proud of it.
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