People Pass (A poem inspired by The Scream by Edvard Munch)
People pass They don’t see the pain I’m in A guy in the street just like them with problems no bigger than theirs My internal struggle is waiting to burst but nobody cares The bridge I’m on acts as a platform for my escape A jumping off point into the watery landscape No problems at the bottom of the river Freedom so close I almost shiver Even one smile may change the tide But people are busy I cry for help with my mouth open wide But they continue their stride as if to push me aside so I’ll fall over Into my aquatic enclosure My hands are glued to my face as if to hold my untamed mind in place Can’t pull them apart If only I could restart My knees bend without my command My body flies through the air like a plane unmanned Within a second I feel the cold start at me feet I fall further until my descent is complete Looking up at a world turned to aquamarine It’s finally quiet This place is serine The struggle stops The last bubble to the surface pops My vison fades The nightmare of feeling, a forgotten haze
Wrote this for a class a few years ago where we had to come up with a poem inspired by a famous painting.
I want to paint you there, so I never lose you again even the sun wil set my pain everywhere. I want to paint you, but I am not a good painter who will make you a good picture in a frame or in the wall I always hang it out. I will make you come to see in the colour I love it should be.
Indonesia, 2nd April 2021 Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
When I feel lost in this world full of potential and twists and turns When I feel I have no place in structured conversations and I barely recognize my face When I have no friends nor foes or at least I can't see them anymore my aunt, my cousin, my dad propose that art is always open that poetry will always listen and my history is my token I am the culmination of my family's art So I will work and tear myself apart with verses and rhymes and paintings and designs 'Cause our history has no end so long as on my shoulders it dipends
Happy International Poetry Day! This is to remind myself of my family's history with art. My dad writes poetry and used to paint, my aunt created beautiful art and my cousin is a pretty well-known painter. It truly runs in my family and I'm the last artist so far. I hope to make good use of their wisdom and love
Every cascading curve, Envisioned and brought forth Colt brushes accompanied by oils served Gentle glide to slight drag North Smooth, fair ******* Of yellows, white and reds Complied thoughtful hues Silk of emerald, bride of white Paintress’ gaze, lovers by night