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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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Melancholia and joy

 The old man with the book smiles,

The dog rolls up into itself in the rain,

The curtains flutter,

Lovers kiss.

The rain falls in many colours

Over the fading flower they forgot to take

When they moved house.

The wind plays jazz to make the still lake dance.

 The mist hugs the hills,

And swans embrace a heart between them.

The neon bounces

And the jazz goes on in the bar below;

Red seats around a blue table where the bartender serves,

Listening to the buoyant ramblings of drunk old men,

And the dry sobbing of the drunk young.

The bartender is the ultimate magnifying glass

Of human melancholia.

But it does not remain sad for long.

For

The old man with the book smiles,

The dog rolls up into itself in the rain,

The curtains flutter,

Lovers kiss.

Isn’t it pretty?



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