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 look at a black and white photograph;
Her face caressed by the sun.
I look at the black and white photograph
And know the sunlight is yellow.
The world too is a huge canvas.
But the painter had only black and white.
The world too is a huge canvas
And we know he intended something more.
There is only white and black,
But there is something more.
It's as if we know what god intended the colours should be
Even if he never told us.
We don’t know if the colours we think
Are the real ones.
But they look pretty.
So who cares.
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