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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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Cooped up

 I sit in a room

Strangled by pipes;

Veins without life,

Still typing away with two fingers.

I sit in a room

With my pillow sometimes,

And tickle him,

Talk to him,

Cry on him for I have no one.

The nights pass,

The bed sheets smell,

The dead fish rises through it's own murk,

The flower dies.

And yet I stay in my room

All cooped up;

Wanting joy,

But not wanting the pain in seeking it.

Wanting to talk,

Yet not comfortable being questioned.

They say I'm fragile.

That I’m not

Because they've already broken me.

Now, my sharp remains

Shall cut you.


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