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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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A blue feather

 


A blue feather caught in a rose bush,

With a dab of blood on its whiskers…

Calling out to the wind

To bring back the bird that sheltered it

A blue feather caught in a rose bush,

Once always asleep beneath wings

Feeling like tea on a foggy hillside…

Like snuggling into a blanket

With a pillow for company

When no one is there…

A blue feather caught in a rose bush,

Drips and drips

Until what little blood stays dries,

Making the blue whiskers beneath it

Dead

And unmoving.

Still,

The parts that move

Move with frivolous intensity,

Like a flame stuck in a lantern,

Shaking in the storm,

Going extinct and coming back…

Going extinct and coming back…


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