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 like to think I'd done so much.
But it's all just footprints in the desert,
Changing with the wind,
Disappearing with the dunes.
I like to think I'd done so much.
But it's all ice in lemonade.
But don’t feel sorry for me.
Because the sands that made my footprints
Are still in the desert,
Blowing over it forever.
The ice in the glass still exists as cold.
Fire lights
On posters,
On newspapers,
Tips of cigars.
Fire lights
And the ice is no longer ice.
But it is not gone.
It is only difficult to see.
It is blind to those who look
And unfolds to those who observe.
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