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…
I stretch my hand at the light
And a baby holds one of my fingers.
I stretch my hand at the light
And feel seen...
The mist catches light falling off branches,
And makes itself seen
Like a ghostly fire hugging the woods;
Like the dust after a stampede,
Like the shaking wheat
That doesn’t allow the butterflies to rest on them.
I stretch my hand at the light
And a baby holds one of my fingers;
The smile,
The glowing eyes,
The faint hair swaying
Like the final smoke after an eruption...
I stretch my hand at the light
And feel seen...
Touched...
Smiled at.
I stretch my hand at the darkness
And nothing comes to hold it up.
There is only a twitch;
A penetrating wind that drains the last sparkle from my eyes.
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