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Loud Rain

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…
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Glasses of wine

 A poster of Johnny Walker on the wall,

Four glasses half empty with wine;

In one of them,

A white flower

With drops of blood on its petals.

In one of them,

A hair,

From some old woman.

In one of them,

The dial of a wristwatch

Dead and bubbling.

And in one of them,

Nothing but wine

And wine itself.

We drank,

And we swallowed these things with the wine.

But I got lucky;

The glass with wine

And wine itself.

Nothing will tickle me,

Nothing will tick in me,

Nothing will grow in me.

They say I'm lucky.

But knowing this makes me sad.


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