Skip to main content

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…

I'll wait

 I'll wait for you

On this rusty bench near an overflowing rubbish bin,

Spray painted with black and red symbols

That look like some ancient language.

I'll wait for you

On this rusty bench near an overflowing rubbish bin,

Until the garbage man comes to empty it,

Until the trees toss around orange leaves

And become skeletons

Whose thin fingers break under the snow.

I hope you'll come

To make me a fireplace.

I hope you'll come

To brew for me warm soup,

Or make steaming tea.

Take your time.

Even if you're late, I'll wait.

The trees should have so much courage

To be naked in the winter.

We are what we are surrounded by.

So I'll look at the trees

And learn courage.

It will be

My fireplace,

My soup,

My warm tea.

But I’ll wait for you

To get more firewood to my fireplace,

To add pepper to my soup,

To add sugar to my tea.

But I’ll wait for you

And I’ll kiss you on your neck

While you add sugar,

While you add pepper.

And I’ll kiss you on the lips

When we sit at the fireplace together.

This winter;

It kills trees, fire, and even water.

And without you,

It may kill me too.

So I’ll wait for you on this rusted park bench

To die

Only after a kiss

From you.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Can't death come quick?

 A flower fell off a bouquet, And someone stepped on it. And they all went about with their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The act of hastening death. Everyone went about their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The dewless petals, The red colour blackening with the creeping shadow of death, The stalk separated from the head Like with a guillotine. It might have been plucked from it's family, From the other flowers. But it's okay. They'll die as well. It's just that this flower will die faster. But in this world where everything happens in a rush, Can’t death do the same?

Dove and rose

 She has tattooed a flower upside down under one eye; A falling rose wrapped in white silk, With two doves scooping down to grab it. But they never get it. And the rose will still have it's petals, It's silk, Its youthfulness. The rose will keep falling Through this valley between tears and talk, Always closer to the tears. And the doves keep falling along, Wasting their time. Well, Do they have a choice? Become a Patron!

I'll tell her

 I want to tell her, But she might be seeing me as a friend. I want to tell her, But what if she doesn't like it. I've always been that dreamy kid Sitting in some corner, On some bench, Ignored, Marked as absent by the teacher. I've always been that dreamy kid Everyone gossips about. No one has come close. No one has the courage To look into my eyes and see the lava Popping bubbles in me. No one has the courage To look at these hanging spikes of ice, Waiting to fall on the young deer with broken legs. But she saw it. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she at least counts the popping bubbles. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she's the only one who wants to. She'll push me downhill And I’ll break a rib or two. But the spikes of ice won’t fall on me. I’ll break a rib or two. But she'll take this young deer home, Wrap him in a blanket And put him near the fireplace. I want to tell her. And I have to tell her, Because she's too smart  To understand what I feel. She too...