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 rain drips from blinking neon.
And watches the puddle that forms beneath.
It can only watch
Without knowing what the puddle will mean to anyone.
It can only watch
As kids throw mud on each other for play,
For which they'll be whacked.
It can only watch
As the car splashes mud on the coat of a young man
Going for an interview
That could change his life.
It can only watch,
And its job is to only watch.
All it does is create the puddle.
It just lies there,
Quietly.
It is we who mess around with it.
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