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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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Fake Armor

 


We sit on the hill;

The yellow flowers and damp grass

And see it...

The purple mountains in the distance,

Growing white towards the top…

Dressed in armor;

An armor of clouds

Easily penetrated

By the eagles that glide through them…

Easily snatched away

By the wind

Which cannot even pluck grass from damp ground,

Or scatter flowers into petallic parts.

Yet it wears the armor,

Like a samurai wearing his bamboo

To a battle of exploding balls

And spinning guns.

Yet it wears the armor,

Like a samurai wearing his bamboo

To give himself nothing but some confidence;

A confidence that might end him victorious.

We sit on the hill;

The yellow flowers and damp grass

And see it…

The purple mountains in the distance,

Seeming to slowly walk towards us…


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