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…
There's a cry;
A snow flake on the wing of a blue butterfly.
More of them descend
And embrace the rotting tree fallen across the running water,
Cooled by the moonlight
Dancing to its own inaudible song.
There's a cry;
A snow flake on the wing of a blue butterfly.
More of them descend.
The log moves
And they detach and attach themselves’
Like the log has gained a breathing chest once again.
The log
Once more alive,
Rolling down
Rolling down.
The log once more alive,
Falling down the waterfall
As the winged vampires fly off and are never seen
Again.
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