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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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Changing world

 Ravens no longer sit on graves.

Because someone has placed a can of coke there.

Ghosts don’t hunt graves either,

Because lonely drunk men sleep on them.

The world in literature is a lie.

And I’m guilty of these lies too.

More things occur in words

Than anywhere.

It's all fake

Most of the time.

The ravens don’t just sit on graves.

They sometimes come to visit me

In my house;

Sitting on trees.

The world has changed,

But literature has been the same.

The world has changed

Or has it?

Maybe the raven doesn’t seek the dead.

Maybe the raven seeks those lacking life.

And yes,

I'm lacking life.

So maybe

The world hasn’t changed much.

How boring!


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