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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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My soul is stuck

 Red light can come from the insomniac sun,

Or from the hyper clubs that go on all night.

Bullets can belong in a gun, a museum,

Or both.

Bodies can belong to people,

Labs,

Or graveyards.

And souls can belong

To alcohol,

Women,

Or rarely;

Very rarely,

To oneself.

My soul belongs to me.

But occasionally,

It blows like the wind

And in the attempt to knock down trees,

Get stuck in their leaves.

And I struggle to get it back.

Red light can come from the insomniac sun,

Or from the hyper clubs that go on all night.

The world can’t be trusted.


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