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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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The wind talks

 The wind blows

And the feather on the ground is reminded of flight.

It shakes and it takes off

And comes down swaying

Like a child in a cradle

Sound asleep.

The wind blows

And the milk weed seeds take off

Like people on white parachutes.

The wind blows

And snatches a child's kite,

Pulls a woman's hair.

The wind blows

And we hear it talk

In the languages of rustling leaves,

The birds,

The unidentifiable sounds of this vast forest.

The wind blows

And we rarely notice.

But when we do,

We hope it blows again

So that we can listen to what it has to say.

We wait

And what we get is a storm;

A shouting for our patience.

What we get

Is a ripped clothesline,

A fallen tree,

An umbrella coming out of nowhere,

Turned inside out.


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