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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 abyss


 A quiet view atop a hill;

Cabins,

The smell of soil without rain,

The steamer hooting through the winding rail,

Crawling in and out

Of the tattered blanket of the mist,

Sewing together the tattered scene...

A quiet view atop a hill,

Lending itself to a noisy mind,

Free from the noise of the world...

Now forced to look into the inner abyss

And see the wolves bring down deer

With a bite to the neck

And a bite to the belly...

A fight for both,

A feast for one...

Now atop this hill,

As quiet as the scenery goes,

The quietness is noisy.

I wish to go back to the city

So that I do not even have to acknowledge

The abyss exists...


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