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 cloth was laid there for the picnic,
But the stray dog makes it his own.
The cloth was laid there for the picnic,
But the dog lies there,
Sleeping like a baby
Even though the hair on the side sticks together
In glowing blood.
The dog sleeps
And the picnickers return.
One of them shoots at the air.
But he is not frightened.
One of them sends their own dog charging,
But he is not frightened.
They all run at him,
And for the first time in his life,
He isn’t frightened.
He sees them coming;
A blurring mass,
Shaking wheat,
A butterfly.
He sees them coming
And sees darkness fall...
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