Let me hear the voice of you.
Writing on my page.
I text it to be true.
But that message is underage.

I take some paper.
Folding it to be a pain.
Flying crash it upper.
Still trying to stand again.

I walk on the street.
Looking for you there.
The path gives me more breathe.
Smells of you are the things of rare .

I finish my little journey.
So I can take a rest.
You choose me as a honey.
Vibrating on my chest.

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

I will stand up to support Palestine
Until whenever
Wherever I am
As long as colonialism still exists
I will fight for their freedom
Palestine must be independent
Palestine must be free
Eliminate all forms of colonialism
We all have the right to freedom
In our homeland
For peace
For humanity
For life

Always in the poem
there are no tears
between the line
but we will get the fear
and pretend that's fine.
We fall short
and say "ah"
to be the final word.
We must ****
the November creep
waiting until the end of the year
throwing the days
that make you depress
by the message
in a fortune cookie.
Maybe,
by hoping to feel present
in the short future
on the dream we have
will be the last wishes.
We are all in pain
waiting for time
to the monotonous sound of the clock
ticking on the wall.

I fall in love
to a girl
who sits
enjoying solitude
in the crowd,
her long hair waving
hitting the shore.
She laughs,
and the world
smiles at me.

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!

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there.
Flowing fast of our heads and minds. Blurring in every sight, then shattered at every shock.

(We've dived into the memory of the remains, we then grab it in vain).

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there,
and everything we're trying to get after.
Everything,
just a soul which used to be frozen and now dead stiff.

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there.
Hope will reproduce again,
and fail always win more,
we both have tried,
we both feel relieved.

And what if you still ask how I'm doing.
And I'm still waiting for you.
And we still hope the question
"How are you?"

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

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

She stole my poem,
and so did my heart.
She stole my love
and made days full of open wounds.
She came back,
complaining that she couldn't spell
the words I had written to her in my poem, "how this love is so silent?"

She tries to be a young poet,
and I love her.
She writes every single poem by giving her feelings.
In her great imaginary world,
the universe gives her secret life about love.
I try to be one of her poems,
but she tries to stop writing.
The feeling of love in her life now is mine.
I try to write a poem for her,
and she always thinks that all of us will be fine.
I want you to know,
she is my love and my own.
We've made a great mind.

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.

I want to tell you that I miss the room with your hanging photograph on the wall of the room, decorated with twinkling lights between them.
I want to tell you that I miss the conversation we used to have, through a night without rain and you lay there, beside me.
I want to tell you I miss the light of the room emerging from the doorway, then you go inside without knocking it first.
The window hanging on the left side, a bench facing out, and the sight of people passing by are your favorite place when you visit me, right here, and you always sit there.
These walls are cold, and so is my body.
Likewise our first room.
You said what you liked.
A poem, but I didn't get to write it first. You said that you loved poetry.
But now, I love it more than you were yesterday.
Absence is now widely scattered on the floor,
and poems,
and cigarette butts,
and dust,
and tissue,
and tears,
and everything that ever lived in our heads.
And this room misses you.
They bring sadness through a night that is now often raining.
I wish you were here now, beside me. But it is a sentence that has no place in this poem.
Even though I'm currently writing it.
I want to tell you which I should be able to say.
This room lost its warmth.
I wish I could hug you again.
But time first killed me.
And I lost everything.

I am sorry, I fail today.
I am not good at all.
I try to be good at all.
I am sorry if I take longer than others.
They always talk to me what my progress.
I always talk to myself that I am always in progress.
I feel like I am failure everyday.

Loving you has not been being a good habit for me.

I turn off the lamp.
I see myself in the dark.
I am the light on.

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

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.

I catch the dust
Flying it up on the paper
Getting throw to be fast
Let it go then after

I draw my feel
Being good on the sketch book
Painting its to be so real
But nobody wants to look

I see myself
In the middle of the sky
Trying to go down
And never try to fly

I don't know if you are in love with me or not
Can the wind blow my feelings to your heart
and you will be loved?
I only know one thing,
and it is enough for me,
but, I don't know if it is enough for you
Because there are many ways to seek a true love
But I am not smart enough to learn what I feel
So, if it is true, you may notice nothing
Because I love you in silence
That sounds like a loser
So do I
Here I am,
and where is yours?

I dream.
I dream on you.
I dream on you and also miss you.
I dream and meet you in the sky.
In the night, I am a star.
In the night, you are the moon.
We become a galaxy.
I dream.
One day, I hope get there, with you.
And I don't dream again.

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.

I had no idea
to call you back
when I lost everything
from my eyes sight.
But I want to get a help.

If
I
fall
in
love
with
you
day
by
day,
will
you
rise
me
up
every
single
part
when
I'm
falling?

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.

If one day
you find me
not only as a poem
that you really love
and you don't care
who the author is,
I'll be happy.

You are not only the reader
I've been searching for,
but also as an eternal lover
in every words
I will tell you more.

A man gets lost in a rose garden
A lady is there, take care of everything
As a bee that flies between the petals
As a butterfly that lands
As contested nectar
Flowers offer beauty
A man gets lost and doesn't come back
A lady will be taken away
The garden that was once beautiful
is now growing thick and wild,
even more beautiful than before
The nature takes care of what humans cannot care for or neglect
And the bees and butterflies rejoice

If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
The first line should not be the same as what I feel right now
The words that I used to be love actually gone
I will write it as far as I have done
I could not explain all of the memories in my head
Everything I can hold was staying in my bed

If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
I am not sure I could write to you
The sounds that I hear
It is all I will bear
And it’s now standing to fear

If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
My lips were tightened
My eyes were blinded
My ear was deaf
My hand was holding all of the lines that now hope my heart could fine

If I were a fire, and you were my candle,
I might burn your body,
then illuminate every dark space
and make it bright;
even if it doesn't reach everything,
at least we haven't gone astray
for a while.

If I were a fire, and you were my candle,
we would burn at every celebration,
in birthday or wedding cakes.

If I were a fire, and you were my candle,
we would be a farewell gift,
and leave a scar on every melt.

If my poem took me to you,
I should not much mind,
but I do not want to see you,
and I can not leave this heart alone in other place.
It leads me down into the same hole
that the pain I had tried to heal would have hurt again.

But I will keep my own way to lead the same path if I want to fall in love with you.

I will keep it until I forget that I have fallen in every words I write this poem.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, let me know and tell me who you are because the past always teaches you today.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, don't tell me what we have done before or maybe something that made me forget you, because everyone knows it is hard to remember something that have lost from our memory.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, tell me not to tell to you that you've forgotten me also until I try to remember you, because it is still hard to tell to you that you will remember me when love is gone, or maybe it is not love, just happy past and doing fun.

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

I always imagined
I'm on the beach,
watching the waves roll in from your long hair booth,
seagulls flying on a sailing ship,
o it flies between the two of us
who are running around
looking for *****
on the shore
which turns out
to be close to the beach.
My lips,
so salty sweat
and sea water add happiness there.
I saw the sun rising
and setting in our e y e s,
which turned out to be a s i g n,
I needed to learn
to love the lost dusk
and also the dawn that came.
I saw the fishermen
who came
                   and then left
and that was my
h e   art
that was anchored in the old wharf which turned out to be quiet and
l               one            ly,
and was your  h   e   art  there too?
I always imagined
we forget names,
forget places,
but don't forget to go home.
Or perhaps, this is another option.
I always imagined
we were in a house in a cool village, where the rice fields were green and wide,
so vast that our l  ove was never measured.
The chirping of birds will always be heard
and answered so s w e e t l y
from tree branches
whose leaves are thick and shady; every time you
                            and
                                    I wake up.
From the windows and ventilation aisles,
sunlight e n t e r s to warm our cold bodies shivering all night
because of the
r
               a
                                i
   n
and      
         s     t    o   r   m   s
that never subside,
even though we have spent the night with various kinds of hugs
that are not the same.
Even I always imagined
you are there
when I imagined good things,
maybe when you are not by my side and I feel it is not something that feels good.
I always imagined
that I really love you.
And you really love me too.

O, I always imagined it all
when I see you smile every time
I have a bad day, and you said, everything
      must
         be
           easy
             for
              you
               to
                 go
                   through.

I imagined that, while writing this poem.

If you see me in darkness,
I hope you will take me in brightness.

If you get me in silence,
I hope you will come to me to talk.

If one day, you feel I am the person who don't have ability to do something,
I hope you will teach me how to be the person who always have ability to do at all.

If one day, you feel I am too boring to be loved and you decide to leave me, I hope you will change your will.

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

Everything sad--
A soul has left,
we are crying
to act that
we are living.
A man stands
under the tree,
hanging his heart
to think
it will be free.
He needs home
to be loved,
he needs home
to feel a love.
The night was dancing
without the music.
Everything sad--
in the silence,
we know that
he has gone.

Life
       can
               fall
                       apart
                                   in
                                         a
                                             moment.
And we forget how short our life is.

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

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

I let the death follow me
I do not care if he runs faster than me
So I let the death take the lane we race together
And I hope we can be a friend in the end after

He may finish and win the race
And I may still fight and never know what I face
I realize that the life is not about competition
So I find my own way to know my passion

It is not about I am too young to die
It is about I am a human as long as I can give a beautiful goodbye
Yes, the life is too short to hate
So I practice how the love works and I try to bet

I do not let myself die in pain
And I do not let myself be suffer without gain
I am not afraid if I die now
And I am not afraid if they don't impress me without say, Wow!

Because God flows through my vein
and dances around in my brain

I let you go,
like the waves rolling on the shore,
and a little boy who lost his footwear,
crying scared to go back to her mother
where he had lost the gifts.

I let you go,
like a couple of ashy Prinia birds
dancing among the bamboo branches
sing loudly in the breeding season, build nests and lay eggs,
but replaced by the eggs of cuckoos that grew and were cared for with love.

I let you go,
like cities that have long since died
the quiet and lonely
and people left
and no one ever came back to occupy.

I let you go,
like the paintings of pain
from wounds that bleed and lose
displayed at art exhibitions,
and everyone was amazed to see.

I let you go,
like a memory in a photo album
from loved ones first,
yellowed full of blotches of teardrops,
worn-out dusty and looks real.

I let you go,
like an angry poet
in front of half-finished poems
who have been lost for words for a long time
to be reassembled.

I let you go,
like falling rain,
and a boy running around looking for shelter
with wounds on his right hand
holding tightly to the thorny rose.

I let you go,
like a book
and sad stories
which has been left for a long time
after reading all night.

Once again,
I let you go,
as a most perfect poem,
that I have written,
from the remnants of memories in the head.

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.

I meet a woman in the story
I introduce myself as a writer
She introduces herself as the character I write about
She's so smart
I really like smart people
She tells about her life
She is happy to share every experience
She's so beautiful
She doesn't like the word beauty
Beauty only makes things that come to be gone
I understand it
I agree with her opinion
In the first paragraph, I introduce myself
In that paragraph, she also invites me to enter her world
I write about her
She accepts my writing
I write all about her
She reads herself
I continue to write the second paragraph
She says I need to stop
I ask, why?
She says she is tired
I ask her to rest
She agrees
I'm writing again
And I realize
She's just my imagination
I miss her so much
I've never done this before
And I go back to write about her
But I can no longer find her
She is no longer in my writing
I think too much about her