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'm a love letter written in cursive,
Left on a bench
And carried by the wind onto the surface of a pond.
I'll float on the surface
And someone will pick me up
And try to read.
But all in vain!
There are only two people who can read that handwriting.
And there is only one person who can read it when wet.
But the letter will reach someone with poor taste,
And no patience.
The letter will reach someone
Who will throw it back into the pond.
The wind watches over me
Helplessly,
Unable to get me out
Of the hell it has gotten me into.
The wind watches over me
Until I soak and sink in the water
With fishes that can’t read.
Then the wind will go searching for another bench,
Another hopeless man,
Another letter...
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