Slice of Longing

This fresh thought came to my mind

when I was drying the carpet under the morning Sun:

there was a slice of longing

slipped hesitantly in the sloppiness of Wednesday--
and I didn't want it

I hit the carpet hoping that the sudden thought
would be blown away together with the dust
in the crispy summer wind;
rather, the dust made me sneeze

I tried to remember the dream I dreamt last night

it was you in my dream, we sat together talking nothing

I shook my head, then shifted my eyes
to a glass of water I put in the terrace--

an effort to forget that dream--

but my eyes caught the light blue table cloth:

the favorite color of yours.



*linked in Poetry Pantry #108

Is There Anybody There?

When you are posing right under the rain of light
you got blind and deaf
of the look of the truth and the song of love

When you are now in total darkness
you hear all those voices you used to ignore are fading away
and begin to be so worried that you cried:

Is there anybody there?

You Jumped; I Jumped!

Photo courtesy: Roxana Munteanu

We jumped into the unknown world

The not-knowing was such a mysterious pain:

We saw colors and darkness in turn or at once

We moved and swam the style we’ve never given a try

We tried to hold on something we could't trust

And the doubt was always the faithful shadows 

The not-knowing was also a chance, however:

new colors would fill our souls,

the song of wave would soften our moves,

and trust would not be  a sweepstakes to fight for:

for they were grants for the brave soul which once had lost

We jumped into the unknown
and different world

And thus, that’s another bitter pain.

***

NB: written for Every Photo Tells a Story: Creative Prompt #12 and Poets Rally #74

Tomorrow is Nine

Tomorrow is nine
may it be a sign:
the new path is flooded with warm sunshine
is chilled with lines of dozens of pines!

Tomorrow is nine
is mine!

* linked in Poetry Pantry #91 and Poets Rally #63

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

Note:
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.

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#

 for Creative Writing Ink October 17. Also linked in Poetry Jam.

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

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.

The Window

Photo Courtesy: Nia Janiar
(A window in Museum Konperensi Asia-Afrika—Bandung, 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: 

  Carry on Tuesday#122, Thursday Think Tank#65, Sunday Scribblings #284, and Poetry Pantry #66

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.

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: Fethiye—Turkey

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

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

Note:
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)

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 pores; fragile 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:

Broken!

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.

Stuck

Photo is from here.

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









*Note:

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.






Note:
linked in Poets Rally.