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…
We create alternatives
For our dark desires;
Our desires of
Fighting,
Aggression,
Sex.
But these alternatives
Are not alternatives
At all.
They have limitations;
Rules that say
Do not punch here,
Do not grab here,
Do not kick in the groin.
We loved to punch each other.
So we invented boxing.
The winner
Is the person who punches least;
The person who lays one right punch.
It is archery
On the human face,
Where the arrow
Is the arm,
And the nose
Is the bull's eye.
But it isn’t enough.
So we take to the streets
And punch,
Kick,
Murder.
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