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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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Books and blurbs

 An open book waiting to be read,

A wrinkled orange waiting to be thrown away;

The book waits,

The orange waits,

For the reader who walked off to get some snacks.

An open book waiting to be read,

A wrinkled orange waiting to be thrown away,

And the reader who never comes.

He used to exists

And he could have come back.

But

He walked into the library instead of the kitchen.

He picks up book after book

And reads the blurb behind each.

He picks up book after book

And feels like he's read all of them.

But he doesn’t remember

That one book on the bed

With that one wrinkled orange.

He doesn’t remember

That one book on the bed

Whose blurb he did not read.

He never returned for it

And his knowledge remains incomplete...




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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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