The Entrusted Dream

Photo courtesy: Nia Janiar
(A railway which will lead the old train to the blue sky.... ;)....)

I have entrusted this dream
to an old train, leaving for the far away sky

Let me pray that this dream
will safely arrive in the far blue sky
and cannot trace the way back home;
for it only causes pain in the heart of mine
to nourish it myself in this earth of mankind

Written for my friend Nia Janiar, who took the above photo and asked me to make it a photo prompt for a poem. This photo was taken during her trip in Cepu, Blora, Central Java, Indonesia.

*Linked in Jingle Poetry and Poetry  Pantry #79 and Bluebellbooks for Love in Creativity Project

Today's Wish


In his eyes, trapped a line of rain
wish this rain would soon stop
and a rainbow rises in them....


* Linked in Poetry Pantry # 79.

Thick Longing

pic by Simon Howden

In the darkness of winter
I was wrapped by a thick blanket of longing

while shivering, I began to wonder
if you have the same feeling

*written for Carry on Tuesday #134 and Creative Writing Ink.
Also linked in Poetry Pantry #78

November has long gone
ran through the broken window
leaving a fragile black cat
alone sitting still on the window sill
all day long ever since

November came back once a year
rummaging through the very same window
ignoring the lonesome black cat,
denying  his dark shadow perched on the wall
inside the shattered room of broken memory
and leaving soon…

 *written for Creative Writing Ink and Gooseberry Garden. Also linked in Poets Rally #57.


This is an acceptance post written for Poets Rally. Thanks to Ava who have given me the Thursday Poets Rally Poets Award #57. I voted for U Keep Walking Forward.

And here is my haiku:

There is a flower
facing its first time to bloom
clumsy corolla

The wind sings a song
a lullaby of winter--
the flower shivers.

*linked in Perfect Poet Award #57.

The Wish

If that day has come
I want you to remember this:
burry me in the depth of bottomless blue ocean
where neither you can  trace my tomb
nor spread flower petals over it on a chosen special day
also you can hardly find a gravestone to lean on and cry

If that day has come
I want you to remember me as a sweet memory
Thus, burry me in the depth of bottomless blue ocean
where neither you can trace my tomb
nor spread flower petals over it on a chosen special day
for I couldn’t stand it to feel you crying over my dead body

If that day has come
promise me to let me...

#Monday, Nov 21, 2011#

The Lady whom She Hates

The lady whom she hates is that lady you love
the lady who you call the princess of your heart
the princess of beauty and is surely lovely
for she is your very type you love her like loony

The lady whom she envies is that lady you admire
the lady who makes you happy, but often unhappy
because this lady was a princess of a lost kingdom
she is now full of doubts and worries of lonesome loomed

The lady whom she is jealous with is so lucky
for that lady is your main reason to be happy or unhappy
while unlike the lady, she can only wish that you happy
though secretly, she was bitten by a weird jealousy.

*linked in Poetry Pantry #76

The Accident

At that very moment, when I realized there was a car rushing into me, I suddenly remembered you!

I reflex dropped my black umbrella and closed my face with my two hands hoping that this act would save me from the car. I couldn’t think of any better way to get rid of the sudden incident. As I heard a sound of a brake suddenly hit and a long ear-breaking horn, a question came to my mind in an instant: What if I die now?

In the meantime, I felt a cold touch of the body of the car on my leg. I fell down. The driver seemed successful stopping the car in time. I was okay, but terribly shocked.

The driver asked if I was okay. Some passersby got closer and did the same. I said no words; rather I sat still on the asphalt—shaking. I knew the answer for their question was ‘Yes, I am okay’, but it was trapped somewhere on my throat.

I felt so powerless and sad that I cried. Thanks to the pouring rain; it disguised my tears. It was neither the pain on my leg, the bruise on my knee nor the blood on my palm striking the asphalt which made me crying. It was more because of the thought—an instant thought coming to my mind when I felt so close to the death: What if Iyour secret admirerdie today while I haven’t let you know that I love you?!

*written for Creative Writing Ink.

Red Bench Promise

It wasn't raining that day
Rain was trapped in my eyes

I faked the smile, saying good bye
but I've never been a good liar

Those soothing words you said
I packed neatly along with a handful of hope:
in this park with a red bench, we'll soon meet

On the back of the bench, I sit today
saving my shoes from the splashing mud
as I am worry about them:
how if they get dirty,
then I would stain your jeans
when I run into your warm hug;
isn't it a day for the red bench promise?

The dripping rain streaming down my umbrella
is the only sound I hear for hours
besides another rushing rain, escaping from my eyes
for the red is not anymore the color of the bench...

*written for Creative Writing Ink on October 3rd and Poetry Pantry #74.

I Hear the Silence

Picture courtesy: Nia Janiar

I know it’s not easy for you, so does for me
we used to hear voices:
happiness and laughter
sadness and silent cries
in the small package we call friendship

We used to find each other’s eyes
for they keep a naked mystery, all memories,
as mystery is always about curiosity
we find joy living in it, make fun of it

As now the mystery speaks the truth itself
we are unavoidably speechless, we cannot rephrase it;
you pretend not to hear a thing
but prefer sitting alone listening to the silence,
I of course hear nothing (from the silence),
but I understand more…

#Sunday, October 23, 2011#

#Note: written for Carry on Tuesday.

Haiku: A Seed of Sunset

This haiku is written for The Poetry Palace which has given me a Perfect Poet Award for Poets Rally Week 52.
Thanks to Ava for choosing me and The Poetry Palace for the award... :)



Thank you, Poets Rally. Now, I nominate Jesse S. Mitchell

The Window

Photo Courtesy: Nia Janiar
(A window in Museum Konperensi Asia-AfrikaBandung, West Java, Indonesia)

When I look into your eyes
I feel like sitting in a small and dark room
with a small window

Through the window, I see the world outside
From the window, I get a shaft of light
but it's limited to a square of windowsill

How I wished I sat in a room
with many of windows
To see more, to get more

#written and linked in for: 

The Rain of Cold Memories

Image courtesy: Creative Writing Ink

In the darkest of rainy night
a street lamp found a girl
standing under a nearby tree

—the rain of cold memories washed her through and through...

*Note: written for Creative Writing Ink.
Also linked in Poetry Pantry #64 and Thursday Think Tank #67.

Moving Forward?

Image Courtesy: ~L/Untitled Moments

I'm stuck here.
Suddenly, I'm so afraid to move forward since I'm not anymore sure about the reason of why I should make it through. But I can't go back. It's a long journey to come here. Considering many aspects, going back is not an option; that's not reasonable to do.

My eyes wander about the vast field of wheat: searching for a sign or an answer about what I should do, and find nothing. I look up to the sky. The sky is so blue and silent; no cloud number nine. The wheat bushes are hissing along with the breeze; I feel uneasy even more.

Silently, I pray to God that hopefully there will no green-eyed monster here. Because if it really exists, I will feel much more in vain. The green-eyed monster is never kind. It often times makes us end up a useless hatred and resentment.  It's disgusting.

I've made a temporary decision; I will stay here a little while and try to learn how to "enjoy" the uneasiness and undefined feelings ruffling my heart--my inner self!

Pray for me, my dear fellow, that I will soon be free from all of these confussion and ambiguity of feelings. Believe me, it's totally awful and absurd to suffer from the uneasiness of something you can't explain--something you don't even know the what or the why!

* Written for Short Story Slam Week 8.
  Also linked in The Tale Tellers and Sunday Scribblings #280.


A red corolla
overheard careless whisper:
doldrums of august!

*written for Haiku Heights #56

Lost with You

We are here not because we want to, right?
but because we have to
And all have-to things are never completely sincere
or fun or strong

We are here not because we want to
but for a journey we've never planned
and all unplanned things finally will lead us
back to the track
or to manuver
if coming back is not possible

We are here not because we want to
the red balloons we bought on the way
are not clues
the black birds in the sky
are not truly guides:
And now, I'm so much lost
so alone, though you are all walking by my side
I'm so much lost!

*written for Creative Writing Ink

Melancholy of a Street

Giorgio de Chirico, Mystery and Melancholy of a Street

When a whispher of farewell is getting louder
and the smell of good-byes is starker
that is when you will feel it:
the melancholy of a street

You count your steps and stops
memorize the alleys and turns and slopes
plant in mind the smell seed of the air and the all town's treat: 
what a melancholic of the about-to-leave street!

*written for dversepoet and linked in poetry pantry #62

Mediterranean Sun

Mediterranean Sea: FethiyeTurkey

You are my sunshine
set in a Mediterranean sea
so far away from my country

That I could bring you home
it’s such extraordinary,
a perfect memory,
and a pride of me

You are my sunshine
perfectly round and beautifully orange
that the sea water is willing to change color

*written for Saturday Centus by Jenny Matlock

Just Friend

You are a green leaf
I am a wild purple grass:
we can only be friend!

*written for Haiku Heights #55.

Tea of Blue

As today's sun is hotter
but the wind is colder and strong,
I'd rather to sit in front of the window sill
drinking tea of cammomile
staring at the far away sky

So blue this color of the sky
it contaminates a cup of my tea
fast flowing through my lung
dropping on my heart:
cold and bitter blue!

*Note: If you notice an absurdity in this poem, well I made it in purpose... (as absurd as my feeling)

About Lena and Wealthy Widower

This is a story about Lena
a poor girl who married a rich widower
the widower she did not love
for the will of her parents she could not reproach
in order to pay family debts

Wealthy widower had two children
When he was working, Lena would take care of them
On the fifth day, all servants were fired;
Lena said she could do it all:
taking care kids, home and everything

Increasingly, wealthy widower was in love
he thought he did not miscast a second wife
he always found his home was clean and neat, children are in a good care
though Lena was always fatigue and slept fast at night

It was three months the age of their marriage
wealthy widower somehow began to feel
he did not marry a second wife
but rather a housekeeper ...

*Linked in PurpleTreeHouse

Written in session of Reading Lights Writers' Circle (Saturday, 2 / 7), theme: Poverty as a lifestyle.
(The original piece was formerly written in Indonesian Language)

Lila and a Stranger Boy

Lila could not remember how she could arrive in this vast field of gloom.

She only remembered exactly that she was walking out of her school yard when some kids were running to the alley not too far from her school.

"Come with us!" a boy her age suddenly stopped and invited her. His hair was black, a little bit curly, and shining.
Lila stared at him cautiously and said nothing, a little bit shocked. She captured this boy had beautiful green eyes.
"Come...," said the boy again while trying to grab her hand.

Lila stepped backward.

"Why? You don't want? Are you afraid?"
"No. I just wondered where you will go?" answered Lila, having no idea what to say.
"To a place you want to go. That's what people said," said the boy confidently. "Come!"
"I can't. I am waiting for my parents to pick me up."
"Oh, I should have known this: another homey girl," said the boy sarcastically.
"What do you mean?" Lila was hurt hearing it though she could not understand exactly what the boy meant.
"Ah forget it. I'm wasting my time now. I have to go. You can go home and play with your dolls."
"Hey! Who do you think you are saying those rude words to me?!"
"I'm no body, but I can be somebody. That's up to you." The boy grinned, and ran to the alley.


Lila looked around, but saw no body. Those kids she saw running were (as if) vanished. They should be here, in the vast field of gloom. She was sure she followed the right track. The alley only led to this field. She hesitated to go back, but she remembered to the boy's word and decided  to go on. She's not a homey girl. She's smart and beautiful. That's what people used to say about her. Deep inside her heart she wanted to prove it to the sarcastic boy.


She knew it exactly, the weather minutes ago--right before she arrived in this field--was lovely and sunny, and today was her last day of school before summer holiday. But what she saw now was totally different. It's just like in another part of the world. The sky was so gloomy that it seemed to be painted with all black and grey. The land was in the same color; no green grass nor flowers. There was one tree in front of her, a dead tree: no leaves, not green.

She walked to the tree. She planned in her head: to walk to the tree and see it closer, then go back to school. She had no reason why she was suddenly interested in an old and dead tree, but she kept walking. When she got closer and went around the tree, to her surprise, she met the boy sitting under the tree. She felt a jolt in her heart.

"So, you come here," said the boy.
"Yes," she tried to sound friendly. "What place is it actually? Where are they--the other kids?"
"I don't know. I didn't see another kids but you."
"But, you were with them running."
"Really?" the boy stared at her in real amazement.

Lila was confused and had no idea what to say. She rather said, "I think I have to go back. Bye." She tried to be friendly.

"Once you get here, it's not easy to come back. We can go through to the other part, but the door is closed now. We are late. Other kids are there, going to the place we want to go." The boy said those words while staring at the far grey sky.

"You lied!" Without waiting for a response, Lila ran back to the alley. Unfortunately, she could not find it. She ran back and forth but could only see the vast field of dry and grey land. She was so disoriented, confused, and so much worried she went back to the boy. She was so angry to the boy that he made her coming here.

She was about to hit him with her bag, when the boy shouted: "Watch out! See this line. You cannot pass this line. It's my territory."

Lila saw that the boy had made a circle around the tree, and he stood in the circle. Lila glared to the boy and was so wrathful that she cried sobbing. She sat on the ground and cursed herself for being so stupid following crazy boy. During her lifetime, she had never been rejected or mocked. She got always what she wanted. Everybody loved her and often praised her with nice words. She had everything. But now, she was lost in strange field with unfriendly boy she had never known, only because she wanted to defend herself from the boy's teasing words.

She felt sorry to her parents that she did not obey their words to wait for them after school. She remembered her friends and teachers, her lovely cat at home. All nice things were crisscrossing her mind mixed with anger and fear that she would not be able to get back to her normal and beautiful life.

"What is it all about? What have I done to you that you treat me this way?" asked Lila with resignation. She seemed so tired for crying an intense sobbing.

The boy, a little bit shocked staring at her, said nothing. He then erased the circle with his feet. "Sorry. I just try to protect myself. And do forgive me that I cannot answer your question. I'm confused myself."
"I want to go home!" Lila shouted while hitting the boy with her bag.
"I'm afraid we cannot."
"I don't care; I just want to go home. Do something. You made me come here, now you have to bring me back."
"You'd better save your energy, we don't have food here."
Lila stopped crying suddenly as she heard it. She was so hopeless she kept silent and sat still. She stared blankly to the far grey sky. The boy said some words to soothe her feeling or simply to have a talk. She didn't replied to any of boy's words ever since.


I feel like this story is just unfinished, but had no more idea to continue...hehehe....
It's written for the writing prompt of Creative Writing Ink.

I am the Grass in Your Body of Stone

It’s me the grass
inherently settled in your body of stone

The sun shone on you faithfully
burning your blackened body
The rain slowly and diligently pounded you
penetrating your poresfragile and watery
The wind chill neatly wrapped your body
covering it up with sad loneliness

Then, at one dusk
soundly asleep in a corner of the city
You're going to give up:

People will forget that
there was sun ever flooded you with speckled lights
or rain ever pounded you on and on, challenging the rainbow falling on you
and there was once wind singing melodious songs of seasons in your noisy ears

It’s me the only grass
(which they will see and remember);
My delicate roots outstretched holding you tight,
inherently settled in your body 
which once was a stone ...

* Linked in Poets Rally and The Tale Tellers.


Photo is from here.

I stared at the sky
my mind flew high to the moon
stuck among the star light

Haiku is a poem of 17 syllables divided in three lines: (5-7-5).
First line consists of 5 syllables, second line 7 syllables, last line 5 syllables.

--contributed to dversepoets.

Taste of Summer

The taste of summer
is humid. I hear the sound of
timid hullabaloo.

linked in Poets Rally.

We are Books, We are Stories

Photo by Bethan
We are books, we are stories
falling on a green green grass on a valley
dandelion clocks welcome us kindly
make us feeling like homey

We are books, we are stories
falling on a green green grass on a valley
the valley may soon be our tomb
and dandelion is our bloom

We are books, we are stories
falling on a green green grass on a valley
lost yet happy
in each other's company!

The photo is a prompt for a contest held by Figment.
That I was late for the submission but in love to the photo promt, I kept writing this poem for the prompt.

In addition, I linked this poem for Jingle Poetry.

A House of Stone

I build a house of stone
on a rock by the sea
not to fight the coming wave
nor to prevent it
flooding to the seashore

I build a house of stone
on the rock by the sea
to challenge me
to stay calm hearing the sound of the wave
and remain strong when the wave beats me

I build a house of stone
on the rock by the sea
to find a me!

*written for Creative Writing Ink and Poetry Pantry #58

A Beautiful Boy on a Hill

I could never be able to read your mind. You have big brown eyes--crystal clear. Having those big beautiful eyes, it should be easy to enter through them and then read your mind. But, I don't know what or why I have never been able to read you, not to mention understand you. 

You always come that way: running up to the hill as if someone is waiting for you and you are late. I can feel the spark of hope every time I hear your footsteps getting closer. I think the wild rabbit can also feel that. This rabbit—I don't know how you are connected with him—will also come here as you arrive. You will take him, kiss him, and talk to him as if you two are best friends meeting to have an afternoon tea. But, there is no tea here, no laughter, but the song of birds and certain bugs. Sometimes, you bring carrot for the rabbit. I always wonder if you know that this rabbit doesn't live here, he comes only when you drop by. 

It is always at dusk every time you come here. At first, I thought it's because of the rabbit. Lately, I know or I supposed to know that it's not about the rabbit, nor about the beautiful sunset you can see from this hill. Your beautiful eyes will always wander about the paths leading to train station in the foot of the hill. It’s on the opposite site of where you come from. Sometimes, I see you closing your eyes tight and then saying prayers—I guess. I can tell it from the move of your lips and your hands' language. Afterwards, you will open your eyes slowly and then eagerly stare at the far paths. You will wait a moment and then get disappointed. Once a while, you seem contemplate while staring blankly to the far yellow-reddish sky. The rabbit will stay next to you, eating grasses or simply resting or accompanying you—unnoticed. 

I guess you are nine or ten years old. Most boys your age usually play a kite or play in park or watch TV at home at this time. But you are not typical boy, I think. I know it by looking through your eyes or from the way you stare that path and sunset and those birds flying home. Your eyes hide something I couldn't even guess. 

As the sun slips into the far west, the light of your big beautiful eyes will also off.  I can feel that you are so sad that I want to hug you and say nice words to ease your feeling. I have never had that chance.

You will walk down the hill after kissing the rabbit. The rabbit will soon run and disappear among the bushes. I can hardly feel the spark of hope you bring when you're running up here. 

Seeing you walking down the hill that way, I always wish I could tell you that the time will come. Someday, you can meet someone you're waiting for. You only need to be patient a little bit. When the time is right, everything will be okay, so you shouldn't be that sad. You are a little boy, beautiful boy. You don't deserve to feel the pain. The pain I've never known but I can feel it so strong. Or oftentimes, I really want to let you know that I'm here next to you—that you are not alone. But thinking about it, it makes me even sadder. I'm nothing but an old tree on a hill.


The Shapes of Shadow

I've never bothered about a shadow before
if it's darker or shorter or longer
under certain moonlight
or shafts of sunlight

That night when we walked by Mediteranean sea
under the moonlight so round and big it looked little bit eerie
you told me about the shape of shadow in that city:
"Our shadows here look longer than usual, can you see?"

Oh yes, I saw it and I liked it
I like the idea of paying attention to it
ever since, it's kind of my new habit
to scrutinize and compare the shadow we can build

Now, that we're so far away
that talk on shapes of shadow makes me composed
as it will always remind me to that day
when our path had once criscrossed!

written for Poets United and Poetry Pantry #60.

The Story of the Elephant and the White Dog

This is a story about a white dog and a big elephant
who like playing together among the wild bush and plant
they walk or run or jump or scream
all fun they can do under the moon beam

As the sun rises they will separate
the elephant used to feel desperate:
the white dog should run home as a good pet
leaving the elephant to hide in a cave until the sun sets

tonight, the dog don't come to the hiding cave
the elephant wonders the trouble his friend may have
and then playing alone up in a hill
hoping the dog would soon come up and join him the chill

maybe the dog is sick, to himself elephant said
it has been three days since the last joy they had
or he must have a very big trouble
that he couldn't go for mingle

Elephant considers maybe he should go to town when the night falls
so slowly and secretly walking on tiptoe between the walls
as it has been a week
the dog didn't give any news let alone a lick

That I and the elephant don't know where or why or what happen to the dog is
could you do us a favor and be kind please
to help the lonely elephant in finding out
what makes the dog just couldn't hang out?

This Narrative poem is written for Bluebellbooks' Short Story Slam Week 6--Children's Literature.

I got the award for this post. Check it here...

The Courtesy of the Wooden Mask

Photo Courtesy of Tess Kincaid

This beautiful wooden mask
hanging on the wall of your past

It never once betrays you or me or us
for it only shows the real face of itself
not the real you or me--
not the real us

Now that you and me
want to see each other--
the real us
we're suddenly in doubt, worried
for we may betray
the courtesy of the wooden mask!

Written for Magpie Tales #74

The Broken House

Raspy whisper of wind is still rumbling
through a house fallen into a ruin
one night storm made it rubbles--
salient proof of fall.
I now rare to know,
if resiliency
will rummage
the broken

This Nonet is written for One Stop Poetry
Nonet is a form of a poem with a total of nine lines. The first line must have nine syllables, second line eight syllables, third line seven syllables and so on until you end with one syllable.

You Can't Grow a Tree in a Kitchen

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen
on a dining table made of glass
for a tree needs to grow its root
deep down rooted in the earth

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen
where the sun is blocked to enter
for a tree needs shafts of sunlight
to make a food in its green leaves

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen
but you don't believe me and listen
the smile in your face make me worry
for it will turn to be angry and gloomy
as the tree will soon be weary

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen
but you don't believe me and listen
as well as you won't understand
that we should sometimes be kind
to let something go for peace of our mind

You just can't grow a tree in a kitchen
but you don't believe me and listen...

This post is written for Thursday Short Story Slam Week-5 Children's Literature. Photo is taken from this website.
Besides, I also submit this post for Thursday Poets Rally Week 48



It's surprising that I have won The Perfect Poet Award of Week 48
The following is my award. Thank you for the award, Poets Rally.
Find my Haiku for the award picture as follows... :)


The Summer is Ready 

dandelion clocks fly free 
as light breeze blows gently 
Oh, summer is ready!


I vote for Cherlyn!


I See This Girl and Guy

This picture is a work of Bonnie.

I see this girl, a particular girl
standing in a corner of this gallery:
she looks so worried or weary
I can tell it from the swing of her earrings from pearl

I see this guy, a guy in all black
I can't tell how he looks or feel
he just seems so amazed he stands still
in front of the big painting of black

I suddenly realize it
this girl can't take off her eyes from the guy in a black
who can't take his eyes off the painting of black

I then wondered, but please forgive me for this thought:
if this is a story of love triangle in a modern world--
between a girl, a guy, and this guy's beloved artwork.

This poem is written for Friday Poetically with Bryan Miller who provided three artworks of her friend, Bonnie, to be picked one as an inspiration of writing a poem.
Thanks to Bryan and Bonnie for this week's prompt... :)
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