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Loud Rain

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…
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Flowers in boots

 I grow flowers in old boots;

A pair that was stolen many times.

I grow flowers in old boots

And put them in the sun

And water them often.

No one wants to steal them now.

All they see are the flowers,

And all they smell is the pollen.

The shoes are right there

And no one wants to steal them now.

Maybe

Being damp all the time isn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe

Having no soul isn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe

Being ignored isn’t such a bad thing.

The daisies die

And I put roses in them.

But still

No one steals the boots.



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