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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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From treasure to trash

We are Roman statues
They buried long ago.
Now they try to dig us up
And expect us to still have our paint on.
Poor things!
All they get is a half face,
A lump of stone,
A figure with arms and legs blown off.
All they get is an image
Of what they'll be in the future.
They place us in museums
So their children can see
How they tore us up,
Broke us,
Buried us.
They place us in gardens
So old people can spit on us.
They place us in parks
So the children can draw on us
And spill ice cream.
We have stayed tall for some time.
We were worshipped for some time.
But declare oneself god
And you're not a god forever.
You will become trash,
Or worse,
Placed on a podium for other people to stare at you;
People who don’t care about your history,
But show pretentious wonder at you
To show they are geniuses.

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