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…
Today,
The only bulb in the house went out
And I sit pondering ways to make light
Without buying a new bulb.
I lighted candles and put old newspapers into the fireplace.
I pulled back drapes and watched red leaves spiral down.
Today,
The only bulb in the house went out
And I'm too pale thinking of looking people in the eyes at the store.
But I must go.
There isn’t other way.
I opened the door,
But never went out.
Now
There was so much light.
Now
My room became an acrylic swarm of colours,
Like a Van Gogh painting of corn fields.
Now
I realise this is enough.
I can stay in
Until I’m hungry
Desperately.
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