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…
In bed
With a running nose and cloth on the forehead.
The nose drips
And I can’t reach the box of tissues.
There is much annoyance.
But there's also much pleasure in being sick.
You know
That everything will happen
Even if you don’t take a step.
You know
You can’t start that thing you've been dreading.
You know
You can lie around
Playing games.
They won’t force you much to read a book.
In bed
With a running nose and cloth on the forehead.
The nose drips
And I can’t reach the box of tissues.
There is much annoyance.
But there's also much pleasure in being sick.
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