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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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Laughter and tears

 


You’re a drawing on the Chapel window

Of baby Jesus

Kicking his glad feet..

Surrounded by Kings and shepherds..

And I, a drawing close by

Of Jesus on the cross

Surrounded by soldiers and blood..

And John and Mary.

The sunlight hits you first every morning,

Making the stable bright and awake...

And the infant’s giggle so loud

That a man praying alone can hear it.

Then the sunlight hits me,

And makes the dark skies darker.

Then the sunlight hits me

And makes every wound on Christ bright and painful.

They hear his cry too...

But not only for the man praying alone.

His cry is heard

During the loud mass...through the emotions

And the choir music.

His cry is heard

Beyond the hills

Busy making love with the morning mist.

His cry is heard

By the beggar,

The busy men in suits,

The child who lost his paper boat in the rain,

The prostitute.

His cry is heard

By those having no time to listen to anything else

But their own pain...



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