Poem

Jalanmu angkuh Seperti tak acuh Merasa paling hepi Tapi kau keki Tuan paling berbekal dan pintar Tapi sayang, irama tuan jauh dari gitar Kau hanyalah pribadi yang berpangkat Kenyataanya kau tak berakal dan berbakat Bukan pertunjukan teater dan sinema Engkau malah ingin dijelma Hatimu kosong Otakmu gosong Engkau seperti Doberman yang hanya bisa menggongong Sumbu pendek Tuan bengek Disentil sedikit kau ngamuk Dasar nyamuk! Silahkan saja tuan bermain peran Tapi jangan marah Apabila banyak yang bosan Mendengar tuan ceramah Tuan hanya bisa bertameng pangkat dan umur Itu tandanya tuan sudah tidak subur Maka masuklah tuan ke liang kubur

A man with a great deal of honesty will fly as high as the sky; shine as bright as the sun; sink as deep as the void; and lived chronologically.

I want to write as if I don’t have to think about anything. To write without the hesitation of organizing thoughts and making up sentences that make sense. I want to write. What is it about good writing that makes them so good? Who are these people that can classify these writings as “good”? Should we bow down to them? Are these people the GOD of writing? Well, I want to write....

Warm lights emitting from lamp posts on a gentle night. At that time, there were none to do. Walking was out of the question, and crying was out of the question too. So, I went out of my way to sit and stare at the moon. When its sight bored me out of my mind, I went to look over the bazillion of stars that surround it. I hate the word midnight....

Unbeknownst to them, all of their life were spent on their livelihood. So, it means that they have decided, [un]conciously, to live by it. It is a distraction, big enough to forget all about the pain and suffering. Consequently, to keep this illusion going, for the collective, they have decided to coined a term: The Expert. No different than those politicians, experts are puppet masters who designed the play; the game; and the world....

I took a deep breath As I awoke from a lethargic sleep My senses are still at youth As the morning sun creeps My candle burned in each step Every warmth it gave declined Every chill they gave inclined Whatever happened to the warmth? I try hugging myself It resulted in no such warmth... The hug suddenly turns into chill Everything feel so still My face is cold From the tears

The city was once a village The village was green and small Everyone agreed that nature was friend And to forget means to let it die Nature is large Nature is larger than life All of these statements are misleading For nature cannot be measured And its existence is life itself Nature puts its suit and visit its people in many ways Most of its visit were recounted by writers who lived in a village One man wrote: "...