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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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History


 A broken face;

The only relic from a Greek statue,

Once naked

And pouncing with muscles.

A broken face with one eye

Kept in a museum;

The yellow light falling to reveal

The crevices on the cheek,

The nick-less nose.

The yellow light moving,

Making us wonder if that apple in the throat

Is still alive,

Trying to say something;

Probably tales of great battles,

Fall of Kings,

Flowing of blood.

Probably the noisy things he saw

From his place atop the mountain,

Scanning the landscape;

A landscape of rocks

With blood and voice and life...



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