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…
The blind dove
A white blind dove
Sat on a tree
He had no morning or light
For nothing he could see.
The doves having sight
To spring and autumn see
Laughed aloud
And all around their feathers flee.
One day the forest roared
And the trees all burning down came
To light the grass and dry leaves
In quick, spreading flame.
The ones who saw the light
Unrolled their wings in pride
And the blind with his toned ears
Followed along behind.
The rising ash turned their wings black
And they their splendour lacked.
They pricked and scratched their feathers all
Until they had no feathers at all.
It seems too wise to have sight.
Later they saw no day, no light.
For from the clouds they fell into the flame
For a mistake so stupid and lame.
The blind dove still flew ahead
Before the twigs and trees could turn red.
When he couldn't feel the heat,
He thanked the lord
For carrying him in his hand
Away from the burning gallore.
He called his friends aloud
But no voice in his ear arrived
Because all of them were gone
And none were alive.
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