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 building smiles with its windows;
Some spitting light and others void,
Like it’s missing teeth.
But actually, it's missing a lot more.
There are people in these rooms
Who can be themselves only in these rooms.
The ones in lit rooms are not so lit;
They might be
Breaking mirrors,
Pulling their hair out,
Sliding a blade on their wrist;
A streak splashing across their face.
The ones in dark rooms
Might be lying amid
Unwashed clothes
And bottles of beer and stronger things;
Alone and afraid,
Engulfed by their own darkness.
This is the price they pay
For putting on costumes.
This is the price they pay
For putting on smiling masks,
And putting on fake laughter for silly jokes.
This is what they get for being walking hoaxes.
And they deserve every bit of it.
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