When we can understand
after we consume too much
everything you no longer need
or we don't have to know –
technology that drives us all the crazier,
lovers who end up hating each other,
fictional romance stories and idol figures,
forest destruction, environmental pollution,
riots, the roar of caged animals;
I saw the news of an elephant calf
reported to have died
with an entangled trunk
his eyes lookup
into our minds,
increasingly miserable workers
for a small fee,
the state moves people like pawns;
beautiful and charming thief,
elegant wife and luxury
overcrowded prison,
slum dweller,
unemployment,
and a man old enough to love graves.
These things, and more, in content
shows life swinging on a rotten axis.
But they left a little hope
to drown out a little mess
or intentionally making noise
on the show, we have to pay for ourselves every day,
in the smartphone screen.
A flying bird
and around the roof of the house
as a symbol of death
against human conscience,
above he shouted,
“Love me again!”
such as vehicles and pollution
who came on time,
and the city awaits them.
On the shop front,
water runs high,
people laughing happily
and the flowers wither away
in rainy season
who came again.
Is there any form of sadness
other than things that are no longer useful,
for those of us who are speechless?

It's raining tonight.
Cold.
My head was hot full of flames and wanted to explode immediately.
Like what if I cool the head full of fire in the rain full of water, will it die down or vice versa.
No animal sounds tonight.
There was no sound,
other than the rain falling from the sky onto the ground.
Blessing rainy night to all creatures on earth.
What a wonderful thing it is,
the gift from nature,
the gift of life.

I am the character in a game of love.
You try to gotcha by purchasing and hope you will get the best character, but I am not over power one you want it.

I need an answer
when you don't give me a question.

Give me a pen
and put it on my right hand,
I will write our story
with the right love,
so we have a new plan
to explore this journey.

Sometimes I feel they don't want to see me.
Sometimes I feel they don't want to see me around them.
Sometimes I feel I need more light even I just have a little.
Sometimes I need the way I can see myself even when I always get lost in many darkness.
Sometimes I feel  I am bad when I am doing something and they want me to be perfect one.
Sometimes I feel I always do wrong.
And
Why?
Sometimes,
I write
and cry
and also pray.

When I got a new book,
I have found my favourite smells
and also remembered all about her.

I lit a cigarette
Then I enjoy it with a cup of coffee
My poetry paints its own words

The rain is pouring.
    On my heart is full of love.
    Bloom a peace flower.

Night can be fallen in my dream,
but I could not swim in the dark.
The moonlight is so high,
and I try to get it.
Before death follows me,
you must hold me tight
and I am not drowning again.

Send me a true love
and I will pay it
because I never get it.

I can see the tigers behind your tears.
Nobody knows
that only you who can feel the fears.
As the poet who always gets drunk every night.
He needs his pen to join that fight.
If one day the poet lost that battle,
the tigers would get her as fresh meat slices.
If one day the poet won,
his poem would become famous one,
because the madness was fried in the pan.

There are days
when I'm so happy,
not when I'm writing poetry about love,
but I find love itself.

If only you knew
where I learned to hate myself,
I would tell you
when I've become good at loving things
that is beyond my control right now.

We will definitely be someone
who is destitute
when it comes to love.

Don't tell me if you are sad because I finally get you.
I get you out of my mind.
I get lost.

I walk among the sunshine when morning comes, but when you see me you go away from it.

Don't try me in the first time, she said
There is nothing to do
when I never do it
in the first time
Sometimes feel better
Sometimes feel bad

The night
will always
be the night
It never be yours
It never be me
It never be ours

Don't try me in the first time, she said
I try to fix everything
what I never fix it
Somebody tell to do right
but I never be right

Don't try me in the first time, she said
Because she never does it
and I never let me do it
in the first time
and I am not in the first right time

Don't let the tears fall.
I can no longer hold it.
I am damaged.

We are poetry written with sadness and tears
I no longer miss you, and so do you
We become fear

I find you
in my dream
and
I get you
in real life.
The past will be the past,
but the future needs me.

Beautiful is close to
b
   e
     a
       u
          t
            i
              f.   0.   0.   l
it's really
C O O L

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?

I love dancing in silence,
the way I feel the music.

The sunlight said, "Good morning, my dear".
You got it when you opened the window.
The sunlight said, "There are many good things to do if you're in a good day".
Until you realized the cloudy fill them with tears and you got fear, but there are still good day indeed.

I'm back to writing poetry again,
but not with the same feeling I had
when I first started writing poetry.

I used to start writing poetry on a blank sheet of paper, and a pen, and sometimes in a lecture notebook, maybe often before going to sleep, also on my smartphone notes.

Now, I'm back to writing poetry again,
but the feeling isn't like before,
for some reason now I seem to have lost interest, different from how I used to be.

I used to write poetry,
sometimes about my days full of emotion, oh no, more precisely about the loss of a lover, yes, I once had a lover, but not now.

I used to write poetry about loss, and everything related to it, maybe it's the rain that keeps falling, or the sunsets, or the lonely and lonely nights.

I used to write poetry about the past, which maybe now I shouldn't care anymore, actually I wanted to write all of that, but I no longer have the feeling.

I used to write poetry, and now I have forgotten many of the words, even the methods, please teach me to write poetry again.

Please give me your heart,
because I've just lost
my
                                 S
                              .
                         O
                      .
                 U
              .
         L

And the rain always
accompanies us too, with
tears falling behind the windows.

Happy World Poetry Day!
Read all your poems and be happy every day with all your feelings!
If you are happy, be happy!
If you are sad, be sad!
Your feeling is true because that's you!
Happy World Poetry Day!
For all poets in this world!
For all readers!
For all writers!
For all love you deserve!

The moon is calling me
To fly to the night sky
But I do not have a couple wings to go away
And I decide to pray
I wish I could not cry
Because the moon is calling me
And I always stay
But I never try
I wish the moon could read it
My soul is here and also fear
I am so sorry, my dear moon
The beautiful one that
I am looking for every noon

Tear off my chest
and stab my heart
with your dagger,
then I will feel nothing,
because I have died.

Have
      you found
yourself
      inside?

I

         w          a        n           t



                   t                   o


                          b      e




f
   o
      u
         n















d.

I learned every vocabulary since childhood from every word my mother taught me and I had to remember everything, including the word love.
But I was never taught the meaning of loss after I knew love.
I had to learn to know everything on my own from the experience of growing up.
I may still be learning until now.
And maybe I'll still get another loss.

Wush!
Wush!
Wush!
I fly.

In the end,
I returned to an old feeling
that was over for a moment,
the first time I was in the room
but did not realize that I was too comfortable to leave it.

Neither so wide nor so narrow.
But I felt strange in my room,
even though it was an irony
to live with an old bookshelf
with a collection of books
that I had read through
and had read several times.

I'm still thinking about going back
to reading one of my favourite books at the top of the bookshelf, or better delay, or maybe go back to doing nothing.

And at a real age,
we should understand better,
which makes us more comfortable and happy, which worries us more about what we can't achieve, it's good that I should stay here.

I'm a stranger again and arrived among all the boisterous childhood hopes that are trying to be realized in a real future that we never know the end of, and those around who are observing, and even the closest people which we are not aware of its role.

I might prefer the past,
and maybe I'll still be there
waiting for a line to get its turn,
even at death,
or maybe I'll be like one with anxiety sufferers,
which they then say is crazy,
observed a dim lamp hanging in a room that was only large enough for one person,
fell and then broke apart,
then it was pitch black.

I admit
that a form of alienation is created when all is no longer here,
and even in the dark,
and then they realized
that life had known light so much.

But, just one breath.
We're over.

I heard the night singing
and dancing in the wet streets,
the cold wind that blows into melodies,
the star and the moon with its dim light,
the best show that not everyone knows about,
and I'm sitting in silence,
and a lit cigarette in the right hand,
and a poem,
and the end of this year.

I dry, you are the rain that flushed my body.
And we are fertile land with loose soil. Then feelings grew in it.
Under the heavens I pray,
that I will be strong enough to hold you back any longer,
so that you won't disappear
or come home at any time.

Love is the harvest of feelings that can make us survive in a bad season, before actually coming,
after we're really cooked.

You may lose your feeling to write a poem, but you never lose your feeling to love someone who never gives you a love back.
It's okay not to be loved by someone who never gives you a love back.
Maybe, there are many people will judge you by your fool things even you spend many times by loving one.
But, it's true and it's you
even they never know your feeling,
because love still will be love.
Who cares about them,
they do never know
because they never know
how love will be fallen
or how love will be risen.

Poetry
is a drug
for me
that sometimes
makes me
addicted.
And now
I'm trying
to get away
from it.

I want to share
the idea from my mind,
it is all about longing,
and the way I miss you,
but I can't.

And here I am
with all my darkness
trying to enjoy my dim light.

The idea of being forgotten
always be my main ghost.

I tried to read you
but I forgot that line which is my favorite in a book.

I tried to read you
but I forgot if I have lost the way to spell the words.

I tried to read you
but I forgot that you have first learned how to be a quote that I have tried so many times to love.

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Some people are mad
   here I am writing some lines
   that you never read.

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

I see people.
I see myself.
I'm a part of them.
But they are not part of me.
I see their faces covered in masks.
Some are happy.
Some are sad.
I never know what they are feeling.
I also never know what I am feeling.
I see people around me.
I see myself surrounding myself.
I see them.
But they never see me.
I see myself.