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…
You’re a van Gogh painting;
Confusing in proximity,
Pretty from afar…
Like the sun throwing black light
On blue flowers;
Flowers that adore you,
But cannot decorate your hair;
Flowers that want to be plucked
And add to your breath and beauty;
Flowers that long to belong
Away from each other…
Stuck in the same field
Shoulder to shoulder.
You’re a van Gogh painting;
Confusing in proximity,
Pretty from afar…
With a red scar there on the cheek;
Probably a slash of blood
From a decapitated ear…
An ear now free,
But more freed by death than life…
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