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…
The white crane wants to dance
But there is too much oil on its feathers.
The tortoise wants to move
But it has become too weak to carry it’s own shell.
So it stays in the shell
And becomes the shell.
The world is an empty bowl
With all the strawberries lying on the table.
The world is a photograph
Where everything except a single flower
Is blurred off.
It's hard.
But the crane tries to dance amid the chaos.
It’s hard.
But the tortoise tries to make the shell a part of itself,
And not the other way around.
It's hard.
There's water on the can of coke I took from the fridge.
I open it and drink.
I don’t dance
And I don’t carry anything with me.
I open it,
Drink,
And the days repeat.
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