"monalisa" poems
Palembang, 22 Juni 2011
Api itu hampir merajai waktu
Merenggut harta benda tanpa ampun
Mangarang tubuh yang sesepuh
Duduk pun terdiam di kursi besi butut
Kekuatan api bagai Sang Supernova
Membumbung tinggi tak ada yang terjaga
Meletup-letup bagai haus dan lapar
Tinggallah hamparan abu di senja tiba
Sebelum fajar menyingsing indah
Berisik di tengah jalan sirine mengulang
Langkah kaki mondar-mandir yang tentu arah
Bergotong royong pun dengan peluh dan baju basah
Ku duduk terdiam terpaku
Setengah melamun di sebelum senja muncul
Ku tersadar pun di tengah padam lampu
Dan ku lihat Monalisa tersenyum pada ku
Ku duduk bersimpuh di kaki
Menunduk dan berharap ini hanya mimpi
Dan aku bangkit tuk lihat situasi
Ku dengar mayat rapuh bagai tiada arti lagi
Tak mampu tumpah air mata
Hanya tubuh kaku mati rasa
Pikiran yang ingin selalu waspada
Mental ini rapuh butuh udara
Abu terasa di mana-mana
Terinjak, menyatu dengan tanah
Menutup mata kini selaalu terjaga
Menjaga hari tanpa Supernova
9 Juni penuh cerita
Di bawah tangisan dan panikan
Wanita memasak dan menjaga anak
Pria bahu membahu membangun rumah
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 1:26 AM UTC
Don't You Dare Speak,
Your Words Trying To Make Blue Streaks,
On The Monalisa Of My Soul,
Black Graffiti Stains My Wishes,
And Teeth Bare At My Well Being,
Am I Daft?
Or Sane?
My Head Pounding With Lyrics,
About How Cruel Life Can Utterly Be,
Sharpie Crossing Out My Faith,
Paint Vandalizing My Mended Heart,
Rust Dressing The Hinges Of My Heartbeat Itself,
And Golden Irises Reset,
Back To Seaweed Green,
Resting On A Bloodshot Background,
Crayons Scribbling On The Coloring Book,
Of My Dreams,
Making It A Midnight Sky Mask,
Flecked With Miserable Maroon Tears,
Slang Covers My Intellect,
Making It Foggy And Usless,
You Can Thank Society,
For Sculpting My Strength,
From A Slab Of Clay,
Burning It In A Kiln,
To The Foundation Of Life,
I Am Art,
Sculpted From The Earth's Face,
Yet I Sit On A Shelf,
Collecting Dust,
And All Of The Arrogent People,
Doodle On My Shell,
Colors Make An Ugly Mix,
On My Bodies Skeleton,
And What Is Making Me Special,
Is Slowly Drowning,
Underneath A Sea Of Graffiti
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
You can't silence the church's bell,
So, a poet can't be silenced, never!
He was born with deep stories to tell.
Even after life, his words are forever!
You can stop the flow of the Nile
Therefore you can't alter its direction.
Like tempering with Monalisa's smile,
call it an affront and abomination!
You can't tell the tales of the pyramid
Therefore you can't decipher Egypt.
Like the ocean and the mermaid,
It's a wildcard and mysterious script!
You can't see the end of the universe
Therefore you can't fully fathom it.
It's infinite, deep and immense,
That's why there's always a star to spit.
IB-poetry©
10/10/2018
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:19 AM UTC
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,
the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.
The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach,
a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.
The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet.
The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,
the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.
The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset,
the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to dune drunk shore.
The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,
the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality.
The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this
demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic concrete hypocratic world.
The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights,
Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts in verse,bleedin fragranted words.
The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn.
A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.
The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration,
the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose.
He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.
He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant of destined paths.
He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century.
The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday,
He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark of tomorrow.
T H E POET IS YOU ! ! !
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
Dam I need a blunt,
can't put up with this ****
I'm fealin a new person
My heart just feals like cursin...
I've bin hear,
in this new home,
sober a new rome,
If i had my shear ****
you'd sure would hear a cheer song.
I'd feal you out so happy,
have my words churned out to sappy?.
I'm way out,
I'm not burned,
I get it I sure learned
far out mars rover,
spot me out like your'e lucky clover,
out in a big croud
I'm rare like a drout cloud,
like I said,
I miss my bed,
eatin all day,
freakin all may,
Give it a doobie a precious ****** ruby
Not lit Not fit
can-I-Just-quit?.
How bout a bubble and a bowl,?
no trouble nore parol,
you know i'm slick won't get in no ****
just help a ***** out and blow me a hit.
I love my jane we plan to mary
when she's gone my world gets scary..
So be it if i'm sketchy,
I'm posted monalisa ,
see me on the wall,
touch me and I'll fall,
trust I see it all,
you walk right out the door and leave me on this floor,
I've seen it as it's low thats why I tend to flow,
Best of what I know is what minds like to show..
don't come back that lock is latched,
holdin steady bit attatched,
I need a hook to hold me steady.
some one strong that will be ready,
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
He said my eyes were intense;
He said I scared him...
But I know they are intense.
I know that I'm fierce.
They do follow you,
they look intense at you
like a Monalisa stare,
throwing hot insence
and daggers into your chest.
They make you reach, hold your breath,
pause and sight.
I have seeing it well...
But why do you fear my eyer.
Maybe because my glanze can read your soul
and turn you into a better man.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.
As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.
As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.
Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
distance between us
so close
yet we are light years apart
with galaxies between you and i
how did we get here you wonder?
what did you expect, my love?
how far could we go
with melancholy as our common ground
we had gone through this hadn't we
how you'd remember me
as the one who tried,
your sweet leaf
this monalisa smile,does it still haunt you?
tell me
will you be waiting for me on the other side?
for i wish to meet you
some other time
when i won't be just a bridge to your past
and you would learn to live with yourself
in some other land
where the eagles don't flutter
and where there will be no peacocks dancing in the rain
we can call it our heaven
where the rain brings solace and is less of a burden
but till then
I hope you write about me some
And when you do
I hope it will not be all bitter
and till then
I'll be here in this purgatory of intersection
reminiscing you through our songs
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
the m word
Misunderstood misfit making my way to next monday morning, minute by minute. Many may call it the mainstream kind of life. My mind maybe misleading, maybe only to myself. Mauve colors in meadows make me mesmerized. Mind over matter, boredom melting away. Made up make belive, make up with me. Mistakes being made, measure up Misfire...misery make it meet you. You might think it is modest. Mute minute......I'll still take it. Mirror----- Miraculous mistake made mother. May I make a toast to your magnificent majestic miny me. Magnify meaningful memeries in the membrane
Mighty all Mighty monument...I'm the monalisa.
Luv-kat
May 13, 2010
May 13, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
The enchantress has got me
under her soft illusionary spell
only her my eyes see
as angelic as the monalisa.
Me don't mind being a pet
My senses so aroused
tuned to her every need.
My heart beating in time
to her spirit's pulse
Me walks where she does
skipping along the path
she has lain with flowers
Me drinks from her essence
overflowing with power
pretty as the universe
me don't mind this spell.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
she gathered a smile
so beautifully,
so absorbingly,
so effortlessly, painted;
like the modern Monalisa
reinvented.
And for a blooming while-
I felt time suffocating
on my laps;
Whilst my hopes
of us
ran down the slopes
of lust
and burst
into a dawning flame
again-
like the first
time
my lips, hugged
hers.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
When he looked at me?
I left like the monalisa in skin and bones,
Like the Eiffel tower at night,
Like his every desire and fantasy standing in human form right infront of him.
When he touched me?
He made my nerves ignite and send sparks all through my body.
He would put his arms round my waist and that... That felt like home.
When he kissed me?
His lips pressed against mine, and produced movements that seduced my mouth.
He always left me begging for more.
When he spoke to me?
His voice captured my attention,
Producing sound that my ears yearned for.
Sometimes i would just sit and listen not for what he was saying but how he said it.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
I am a student in Paris, a med-school freshman, one of the crowd.
This week is all introductions, orientation functions and instructions.
“Settle in, get your books, parking passes and find your classes.”
I got my ID - I’m a Vip in the bourgeoisie - does that look like me?
Freshmen join a ‘buddy program’ so things seem less hostile
I met my buddy last week, she’s the consummate boss - effortlessly busy.
She’s got my folder (oh my), full of check-lists. I’ve yet to see her smile.
She’s a third year, from Chamonix, a town in the jagged Alps, near Italy.
If you want me, right after classes, I’ll be at Les Deux Parisiens,
a shaded coffee shop across from school that feels like a garden.
They have everything - from coffee to pizza and martinis - it’s awesome.
For 17€ : try the ‘La Campione,’ pizza with beef and chorizo (sausage)
I am a student in the misty rain, stepping carefully on cobblestones
- they pool water geometrically - I’m heading home (6 Av.) walking alone.
Nothing’s still, classes end at noon - it’s the city, sidewalk’s are full, Ubers uber, mopeds mope, bikers bike, people scatter, umbrellaless commuters.
I haven’t made any new friends yet - I’m not worried - I’m just beginning.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Café Europa by Quadro Nuevo
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone [E]
Robinson Crusoe by Art of Noise
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 7:39 PM UTC
You are one hell of a book,
Written in a simple style.
A song with a catchy hook,
Complicated page to file.
Your plot is intricate,
but you are still intriguing.
Your petals are colourful and delicate,
You got me hallucinating.
Been scripting this piece-
Its nearly a week but still,
Rehearsing it like a first kiss
Punching lines like a till-
Suppressing thrills,
Chasing footsteps of shadows and thoughts.
Swallowing bitter pills-
Thoughts being cast everywhere like votes...
And writing heart desires- as if my poem is a will.
With words that burn as forest fires.
Thoughts of you bring my world to a standstill.
Your stubborn attitude
and the Monalisa smiles,
Raise my heart like altitude.
Ironic enough memories of you keep piling like files.
Your silence captures my curiosity,
Preying on it like a predator.
Your quiet moments are pretty-
Lips made of nectar...
Your expressions are strong-
They challenge my mind set.
You are a hit song,
Your beat makes one sweat.
I hate to play you,
Because your melodies are too deep,
And your lyrics are too true.
So if I fall for you I will forever slip.
You are hard to forget,
When did I learn your facts?
Actions and reactions-a magnet?
You are warm, deep inside like pockets.
No conclusions-
Just casting controversial cute courtesies,
Confused for confessions yet caressing illusions-
Maybe social prophecies...
Thoughts of you are without a conclusion-
Limitless, bottomless-
They run deep like confusion.
So I crowned them with words like a princess.
Naked truth-
True lies...
OutspokenArt #2014
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Today I went through my forgotten junk box
Looking for nothing in particular
Old papers, toys, books and frames
Trophies, memories both happy and sad
Well, there I was thumbing through them all
Surrounded by dust and spiderwebs
A useless chore I thought to myself
I decided to find something better to do.
Then I saw it under some books
Edges frayed and eaten by age.
I snatched it up and dusted away
Every ounce of dust and dirt on it.
My portrait held the picture of her
Her radiant looks and golden smile
I stared and felt I had gone back in time
To behold a beauty, God's own Monalisa.
A scarf on her head to keep away dust
Majestic eyes outlined by kohl.
Her lips were parted in a playful smile
Legs crossed, arms folded while she sat on a
rock.
Behind her the hills rose majestically
Beneath her the flowers formed a carpet of
colours
Above her the sky was a crystal blue
Even nature was trying to give her best.
That radiant smile that tugged at her lips
Those royal eyes that gazed at me
Those looks, that smile was all I could see
A heart of gold I'm sure she had too.
My newly found treasure thoroughly dusted
I felt like a pirate with a box of treasures
Indeed a treasure I had found
For the woman in the picture is my mother..
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
Whose art are thou?
Who is your creator?
'cause I've traced you in every poem and each sculptor,
Were you in Rumi's mind when he wrote, “we are the mirror as well as face in it"
Or In Mir's when he remarked-
"love is the beloved and lover too"
Who art thou?
Where you dwell?
I've seen you in Shakespearean tales
Are you Rosalind or Juliet
Being the centre of the play who dazed audience,
Or one of the long poetry of Milton and Elliott,
Who art thou?
Where thy home?
Are you Beatrice whom Dante
wrote in Divine comedy,
Or Helen, the unparalleled beauty
Or the Monalisa , a dream that Vinci's brush brought on canvass,
Or Kalidasa's mesmerizing Shakuntala
Who art thou ?
Where thy abode ?
Are you a Spenserian sonnet
Or Donne's wit and conceit?
Is it you who shot former "thousand arrows by eyes"
And became latter's "all states and a world ",
Who art thou?
This world is in you
Or you in this world?
You are art
Or art is from you?
Doubts are in hundred
Answer only one-
Any book I read,
The words I write,
All the poems I recite
In all my night’s dream
There's somewhere I find you embedded in them,
It's like all the great poets, artisans had already known you,
And carved you in pages and stones for me.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
I'm lucky, that you're my cousin
With you, can none feel alone
The ray of sunshine
Which dulls one's pain
A Monalisa like smile
Which goes a mile
Towards calming the nerves
You exude happiness!
I'm lucky, that you're my cousin
You judge no one
And attract everyone
The very definition of fun!!
I'm lucky, that you're my cousin
Right from the time we were children
Of you, I've been extremely fond
Sometimes you're too kind
For your own good
A heart of the purest gold!!
I'm lucky, that you're my cousin
It might sound insane
But I think God has sent you
Into our lives
To put us at ease
We all love you!!
I'm lucky, that you're my cousin
May you always shine
And amaze everybody
To you, there's no "nobody"
Bless you, dear sister
And keep smiling forever!!
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 1:27 PM UTC
this pain like an unwritten poem
only the winter knows how much I loved you
how little I am able to say
the air is tall, the night so deep
I walk in the selfishness of the cold
I walk in this landscape where love is an exile,
a forest without shadows, a party without guests
a happiness without an alibi
something that gets destroyed at the first burst of light
but springs again from the unknown depth of skin
I am in the waiting room of a dying love, a nascent love
while Monalisa is sleeping without dreams
in the depth of my days the certainty of tears
only the winter knows how much I loved you
Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 4:25 PM UTC
Whose art are thou?
Who is your creator?
'cause I've traced you in every poem and each sculptor,
Were you in Rumi's mind when he wrote, “we are the mirror as well as face in it"
Or In Mir's when he remarked-
"love is the beloved and lover too"
Who art thou?
Where you dwell?
I've seen you in Shakespearean tales
Are you Rosalind or Juliet
Being the centre of the play who dazed audience,
Or one of the long poetry of Milton and Elliott,
Who art thou?
Where thy home?
Are you Beatrice whom Dante
wrote in Divine comedy,
Or Helen, the unparalleled beauty
Or the Monalisa , a dream that Vinci's brush brought on canvass,
Or Kalidasa's mesmerizing Shakuntala
Who art thou ?
Where thy abode ?
Are you a Spenserian sonnet
Or Donne's wit and conceit?
Is it you who shot former "thousand arrows by eyes"
And became latter's "all states and a world ",
Who art thou?
This world is in you
Or you in this world?
You are art
Or art is from you?
Doubts are in hundred
Answer only one-
Any book I read,
The words I write,
All the poems I recite
In all my night’s dream
There's somewhere I find you embedded in them,
It's like all the great poets, artisans had already known you,
And carved you in pages and stones for me.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
"Today I didn't think..." she paused without breathing, "I took the shoes today... to get comfortable..." A monalisa smile on her beautiful face, as if happy to get lost into an unseen dimension. Her body was cuddling on the sofa like in a fresh nest. Silence was spinning softly around us. I stared at her shoes emptied on the floor, I entered their dream. Minutes passed or half minutes, they felt years.
Years of hope and heaviness, ambition and laughter, ignorance and bliss. They looked helpless, tired, used against their vocation by a stern pace. " My skin is itching... again...." Her skin doesn't want me to see through her, I thought, her skin doesn't want anyone to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. I looked at her in silence, I waited for the shoes to unfold their poetry. I hoped for a smile to slide on her skin one day
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 3:21 PM UTC
They say art is beautiful
And so are women.
Of course that’s true
Sometimes they co-exist
The woman as the art- the art as the woman
One an unrelenting epitome of the other
Behind closed doors, she is his muse.
A canvas he loves to paint on
For weeks-and then months
A fetish of his mind
His private mind
Where all his guilty pleasures lie
She becomes persuaded
by an unconventional reality
Occasionally forgetting-
she was never the masterpiece
That she will never be
The one placed at the forefront of the Gallery.
The one everybody’s eyes adorn first
His greatest work.
Every other day
Is a constant reminder
She was never
Isn’t-
And never will be his Monalisa
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 3:09 AM UTC