I was woken up by a nightmare. I woke up in the middle of the night when I had fallen asleep and a poem was finished. The silence makes the painting in the air I breathe, feel heavy, feel suffocating. My throat is dry. And on such a thirsty night, a poem ordered an inkbox and a piece of paper, and I ordered a bottle of beer and a cigarette and also a lighter, and night ordered
itself for me.
Indonesia, 29th December 2021 Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
The staining aroma we so avidly inhaled in the reign of night At tables made of glass that reflet the moonlight The faint white illumination lit our misdeeds of younger Keeps me reminiscent of days of simpler
Plagued & blessed by lack of consideration No respect for damnation We lived without hesitation to be free To feel we truly needed to be
I sit alone now inhaling what was once shared and sought-after Feeling but trying not to think-of those days of before Watching storms roll through, making me feel spectator to memories of more I retreat into myself, knowing those days are over
I could never imagine I'd look back on those days and call them simpler. I keep running from what i can't see and it's lead me in circles Cycle through the times to get to the next
A person watches a passing storm and reminisces over then and now
I am holding my last cigarette and sitting. Reading my favorite novel, Vanity Fair. Pouring the wine. I used to drink all the night with some friends that nobody knows about them. The poem was written after, the ***** poem. They told me sometimes my poem was about it. It was too late to say that the things they only have is about ***** mind.
Indonesia, 3rd November 2021 Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
i am left with all these alien feelings as you stand by the window rain and wind slowly make their way into you the light from your cigarette becomes colorless in and out...every breath the whisper of being here gives the idea of being out of place as you will without-end be a long goodbye
I was like that a while ago Now I’m on a field reading a book It’s a book of poems by Sylvia Plath And the world looks terribly sad On the horizon but here the grass is green.
Your face looks blue in this light Words softly said… you’re wonderfully lyrical When you’re sad. What a terrible thing to say Suddenly exclaimed, a laugh, swift movement And drag of a cigarette. You stare at me
And say: that’ll **** you you know But you look so good when you do it So does it matter really and I look at you And laugh and feel alive for the first time In years and years and whispering you say
Remember the time we had met And you showed me the way you painted So dreamlike, so expressionistic. I stared into the canvas and was ****** Into your mind, you put me into a trance
As potent as the nicotine rush of a cigarette Take a draw and I watch the smoke Rise into the air and far away… How much of this city’s air is tobacco A quick query a weak laugh.
Golden hour and the green hills Turn into sand dunes collapsing In on themselves, things come and go In that way, time passes in a blink of an eye And suddenly there is a void.
Nothing remains unless you put it on a canvas. My body tears itself apart every seven years And one day I will stop with the blink of an eye And I never would’ve been here. They’ll stay. The sands of time may drag me away
The universe through my eyes May implode and blink out But regardless of what happens to me They’ll stay. They’ll always stay. Your eyes are drawn to a canvas
On which was painted dreams A splash of red, figure shining gold With grey above it being the smoke From a half used cigarette. Staring at it hours after it’s conception
You tell me it’s the best work You’ve seen in a long time And even though I can’t take compliments I turn to you and say, name it for me. You call it expression of sunlight.