Di udara kita menyaksikan salam-salam berbungkus kertas kado keemasan beterbangan—sayapnya dari gula-gula kapas yang menguar dari uap bibirmu saat mengeja gramatika tentang utopia pada turun salju sebelum subuh—menunggu disambut tangan-tangan gadis yang ruang-ruang di antara rusuknya berisi harap-harap yang kekal mengendap.

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Pigeons & Planes

You consist of grains of multihued lights, juxtaposing the dim around the lives surrounding you. You breathe and prudently subsist, to secure and soothe me with your ephemeral presence. You be the bittersweet cherry essence in my daily homeopathic syrup, concealing the resentment of my own disguised fear of mortality. You ensure me felicity through the deception of longing and fortitude, as I seek for more and more perpetual encounters. You and I, we might be the edges of a line shaping ampersand, crawling slowly at secret hopes of meeting one another, while constantly creeping until we end up standing at different thresholds, wishing if only we were meant to be an infinitude.



Now what if.

I might want to be a museum custodian. But you might be just unhappy about me sticking with the past, even trying to collect every reminiscence of it. Seeing me saving lives we all knew have been over for long, presuming so much from them until the boundary between the right now and the yesterdays gets all blurred. Recalling old times when you were not even part of those scenes yet. What if you, enjoy it a bit too much, until the pleasure of living in the moment just disappears because the bygone days comfort you a bit too much, too? What if death and demise excite you? You insist me.

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Once upon a dusk

Goldish afternoon creeping westward, fell on the bend of your lips. Its tangerine spots landed bashfully there, rustling the shade of your look which suddenly turned warmer. Her brain was a microfilm, portraying every millisecond of pleasing existence in front of her and quietly rescued motile gazes of your mien for later be remembered, only by herself.

Now if I still have to offer you a question,

was it a zsa-zsa-zsu?


When we land on a beach

I’d love to see you in an overexposured photograph where we’re looking at the burning red of sunset and I steal a quick snap of your portrait gazing at the west. Just a dark silhouette of you. In which you don’t have to worry about the possibility that you may be looking all peculiar at that moment, because we could always disguise it in all black. In which we learn that obscurity could somehow be good if we know how to befriend them, wisely.

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On a Thought of Time and Phases

At a certain moment, we might agree with the idea of fluctuating value of things; pre-, syn-, and post- literal rift–as if it happens in tectonics. The past is a crack of dawn which we desire to arrive soon. A momentary lure we know we cannot have for long; a transient bliss departing way too soon. Seconds passing, carrying along the bluish shade, wintry air, chirps of chaffinches, dewdrops on narcissus, and so forth. Along with them is a renewal of yesterday’s sins, all erased together by the entrance of morning. We wish we will have a daybreak forever chained in our sky. We wish it were a gift sent to our dorm, wrapped with sunbeams and sealed with new hopes of new days. We want it to be ours evermore. Continue reading “On a Thought of Time and Phases”