I'm afraid.
I'm afraid to see the people closest to me look laughing and very happy.
I'm afraid when they are alone they are actually sad, pain, even hurt.
I'm afraid that all this time they were hiding it all.
I'm afraid if I turn out to be like them.

Everything will be okay,
if it looks in your eyes,
but there is war in my mind.

My darling is no longer here
nor on tonight's poetry
where half of her face was lost in the night
and dreams are now no longer like a blushing red moon
when I last saw her drunk in the lap of love.

It’s really happy if you can always create the night from restless in your heads--
creating many twinkling stars in your sleep
reaching the sky
seeing her cute smile from out there.

What is my darling doing now?
Like a hope that I failed to achieve again.
O, is this a loss that is felt many times?

Tonight is like last night.
Poetry is like a cure for every addiction
to such a sad life.
O, I just let go--all the words.
Just let her fly around the lost soul
on a body that was empty
and had become in rubble vanished.

Even though there is no moon and stars anymore
even though you are still looking for the bright light
in your cramped room--
because the sobs never end and always cover your chest.
Tonight will remain a long night--
the sound of the bats are so deafening
the sound of the crickets soothe the atmosphere—
like your lonely heart
who has died by many buts.

Alright, let's get it--everything
like nothing had ever happened
like the indifference of human life
like you can only feel your soul fly in the imagination that you create yourself.

Alright,
tonight will be like last night--a long night
the night where my darling is no longer here
neither in my head
nor in this poem.

I write a *******
and I realize...

What’s the poet you can think,
And you never let me bring
The poet tells about the king
Whose death by ****** *******
And I tell that’s poet lying

What’s the poet you can love,
And you never let me involve
The poet tells about a dove
Whose wings broken by Jove
And I tell that’s poet drunken off

What’s the poet you can believe
And you never let me live
The poet tells about you
Whose love will get blue
And I tell that’s poet true!

This is sadness.
The sadness that only I can feel.
There are no words to describe this sadness.
Poetry is full of dead words, and I realize it is real.

This is sadness.
The sadness that only I can feel.
I can't do anything with this sadness.
Tell me if this sadness is not real!

How I write a poem is like
how I struggle to get you,
it all exists only in my imagination.

If my poem tells a lie, will the world give me a truth?
I am alive but I do not feel I am alive.
I feel like I have lost my soul.
My soul of my life.
My soul of my imagination.
My soul of the day I feel I never get it at all.

If my poem tells me a truth, will I believe that the world tells me a lie?
I am alive but I feel like I am a loser.
A loser of my life.
A loser of my imagination.
A loser of the day I feel I get what I want it at all.

If my poem tells me everything about my life, will you think I tell a lie and the world give you a truth?

She tells me.
She wants to back to the past.
I tell her it won't be able even the last.
She never talks to me again.
Her father dies after the rain.
O my God! This is a pain!

I'm hugging the words--
     but not as warm as your hug.
     Get me a blanket!

Stars shine in my head--
My bedroom is full of light.
I'm in outer space.

I hide in the light.
     You look for me in the dark.
     We will never meet.

I sleep on the bed--
      Anxiety joins it.
      I get a nightmare.

Your body is a canvas
for love that spills out
in the lunge of longing.

And the night is a stopover
for my addiction
to you.

Today,
I was forced
to be lost by you.

If silence worries you--
just wait a minute,
I'll find a busy place for you to stay a little longer.

In the lonely of your eyes, let me grow and love you.
Blooming on a heart
then cooking the rice.

If at any time there are clouds in your head,
the rain will fall on my heart.
Falling among the leaves,
between words,
between poetry,
and between certainties.

We return those who leave
and do not belong to us
because we fail we never ordered it as the main goal.

A piece of the night has fallen on your eyes
dripping with faint stars
with the moon
starting to frown.

The sky became the loneliest place to live--
and you still don't want to move from your stopover
putting on the body
and lament the loss.

I, who had been struck earlier,
was restless
and beaten restless--
trying to smile sweetly beside you
ignored and deliberately
overlooked
then finally forgotten.

The last beachside I visited your own funeral.
I remembered the drizzle fell for the first time,
when I led you home first.
When the seagulls fly low overhead,
then the wind blows north,
and the beach sand embraces our cold feet,
it turns out the sea is where I no longer find you.

Chanting sounded like a curse of freedom.
I don't hear your singing anymore,
when I once decided to **** myself
on the cliff shore
where many thistles grow,
but you
invite me for another time.

You are my unfinished poem,
for among us,
words
            have
                     chosen
                                   to
                                       go
                                            away
                                        to
                                   carry
                         their
                own
wounds.
Let's decide one more time.
Where do you put me back?

I stood in the headwaters of death,
spoken words
written poetry
memoirs of wounds
hugged again lonely.

I saw God trouble came,
      so I ask
                    want
                              to
                                  play
                                          a
                                            game.
I saw God made me cry,
                               should
                             I
                        do
             more
   pray?
I saw God laughing,
     nobody
                   was
                          playing.

If you want to go--
Please, do not take my heart too!
I have only one.

What else are you crying
about the sadness of love
besides the way you got hurt again?

My favourite book has lost its words
So have you, my favourite place
Which is hard to ask where you are

What a beautiful word
If your dream will come true
And you realize you never sleep again
You will get what you want
Like your childhood playing with many toys in your room
O, let me play!
In this poem
I’ll play my word in my dream
I’ll play with you
In a bed
With a pillow
With a doll
With a sword
With a dream
With all my imagination
What a beautiful word
You are my dream
The dream of my world
Playing in playing out
My happiness will beat many sadness lines in the saddest word for the saddest world
O, let me play!
Let me play in a verse
Let me!
Let me!
You and me

Even,
in the lowest place I still drown!
Please help me pull over!

Losing you may be my fault,
but having you forever is not one of the ways to treat wounds.

I imagine the moon tonight like a poem hanging in your eyes.
    Then touch the heart of the dead
    words.
    It's so beautiful!

Who am I in love with?
To you
What I can't have, forever

Which is more *******;
puddle, or
memories?

A night always runs out,
and it looks like will be repeated as the previous night.

O night! You're so boring.
I decide to spend the night on writing
and a bottle of wine for drinking.

I won't be able to fall asleep.
What if I decide to write a poem in the times leap?
O night! I have to write it for delight.
But I'm too drunk to write a poem tonight.
O! I’ll still write a poem for sure, right?

I sit down to take the pen.
The paper suddenly goes out of my hand.
Where do you go, my friend?

O my poem!
O my poem!
Please don’t go, my poem!
Please don't go like my darling this morning.
Come here, I want you to accompany my saddest dream by singing.
O night!
O poetry!
Alright, let's start again and don’t worry!

The night is so cold and the poetry is so warm!
What the hell is old, and let me try to lean on your arm!
O night!
I'm looking for words.
My poem will finish and never turns out!
O good, God!
O good, a poem!
Let it go for those words.
Let it lie down with the ink!

I forgot how to start
a brief meeting
between the two pairs of eyes, Adam and Eve

I forgot how to start
a simple conversation
between two human children who are growing up

I forgot how to be blunt
I mean the real you

Even now I have forgotten how to express it
because I'm scared
your feelings change with time
blown along with the wind
dropping in accidentally
without knowing if you have forgotten the place before

and finally
I was paused by the time
so long
until I forgot how to write a point at the end of our story

You made me make up a new place on purpose
While I forgot how the feeling of being rebellious was
You made me make up a new place on purpose
When I was lost in the things that fed me up around first
You made me make up a new place on purpose
In the past time, I could hardly have wanted anything to do dangerous
You made me make up a new place on purpose
Filling it up the emptiness that makes me thirst
The long before happened
Why did you come when my eyes opened?
Since I first saw how you looked at that time
Your smile gives me support to do a crime
But it really makes me messy
Never mind and let it busy
I wish you were here
Getting happy with no fear

It's raining outside--
     My cheeks become wet with tears.
     Memories flourish.

Thank you the spiders--
     You have saved my heart before,
     giving home for me.

Time by time, you came--
      One by one, you were so fun.
      What the hell, it's done.

She's typing the chat--
I am still waiting for that.
No poet ends yet.

Aku menciptakan bingkisan berbentuk hati,
membungkusnya dalam rusuk rapat melengkung
agar tidak ada celah sedikitpun untuk kesedihan itu terlihat padamu.

Puisi-puisi kita pernah menjadi hadiah untuk duka dan luka yang samar-samar,
lalu air mata adalah bentuk kebahagiaan itu sendiri.

Kita adalah kado untuk perayaan perpisahan di tiap hidup seseorang.
Awal kita adalah degup jantung kencang yang membuat rasa penasaran,
sebelum akhirnya napas kita tersengal-sengal.

A young lady die--
I get cries of words.
You are the next heroine!

That's the pretty day--
Cigarette burns out.
My finger's fallen by sparks.

How's cold this coffee--
I'd go to warm my body.
This day's so badly.

Sparrows making love
to hatch poetry,
the poet's smile and happy.

On Sunday morning--
A pretty girl is coming.
That's poet lying.

at the far corner of the house
on a shoe rack
i found myself worn out and dusty
about various twist and turns
stacks of my old story one by one of the shelves one by one
the bottom shelf contains a sad story
follow the blue melancholy
each stack has a different meaning
but all the same, about a trip
and in a pile of shoe racks,

i felt
i had been forgotten

The girl
            whom
        I loved has gone,
I can see her broken my bone.
The girl
           whom
       I loved has gone,
she takes me in the middle of silver dawn.
The girl
           whom
       I loved has gone,
the dead body of me should be found.

How to understand you is by writting your name.
I believe you will be mine.

The day when dawn was getting down.
The bird sang arround.
I believe that day, I will understand you.

The sky is beautiful.
The beautiful is you.
Your name too, my dear.

But sometimes, when the day was getting dark, I lost.

I lost mine.

stay with me in a one day
when the last day
was fallen
and our eyes opened
we’ll be back for the beginning we started
our journey,
our love,
our mine,
and our heart
we’ll be back lived in one day
when you stay with me
in the time we spent together
and I can’t say anything you want to say
or sing our favorite song that always we sang together before you sleep on my shoulder

‘o the girl who always chooses her own way
and the man who always loves his dear’s choice’