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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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Identity and new identity

 Blood slashed onto a wall,

Leaking down through the shadow of a man

With a knife.

He leaves,

Letting the door stay open.

Black roses hide in some undiscovered cave,

Not knowing there are red roses,

White roses,

Pink roses.

The blood falls onto the black petals,

As if making it feel red and Normal

For some time. 

The blood gives the flower it's identity.

But not for long.

They say roses are red.

No one will say they're red and black.

Blood slashed onto a wall,

Rolling down to the rose beneath

Slowly.

The black rose doesn't care.

No one will see it anyway.



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