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…
A cup of morning tea
With a few floating leaves,
With steam escaping all around them,
Hitting my face,
Making me breathe and lift my nose;
Making the sun shine brighter
As if I’m in an advertisement
Promoting the tea.
A cup of morning tea;
Fresh like a scented candle,
Almost golden...
Almost gold.
A cup of morning tea
With a few floating leaves
And one floating flower;
Little...
Spinning like a parachute when I blow in...
Hitting the cup walls,
Yet Bouncing back...
Unable to escape,
Forever being boiled alive
But never boiled to death
Within this hell the drinker calls his friend,
His morning alarm,
His heaven...
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