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…
I leave
Dragging this anchor tied to my feet;
A weight of expectations
And sudden loneliness…
I leave
Dragging this anchor tied to my feet;
This thing made of rotting iron,
Been in the sea for too long;
So long
That it has been wrinkled
And crushed
Like a raisin out of water…
Not necessarily alive,
Yet not necessarily dead…
A piece of rotting iron
That defies classification…
All I know
Is that it has weight;
The burden of love,
The shackle of memories…
Blue veins void of blood and soul;
Merely existing as hollow paths,
Waiting for something to fill it up…
It no longer cares
Whether it’s love
Or memories.
It no longer cares
Whether it’s a brotherly hug,
A kiss from my beloved,
Mom’s tears,
Or dad’s hopes…
All it desires is to be filled.
And I hope to find stuff
To fill it with…
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