Un-rhymed lines and broken heart stories. A poem made over grammar mistakes. Every words between every colors.
It’s the New Year and I want to remember the way you look this morning.
With the gloomy sky background and the silent crowds.
The mixture of small giggles and the smile,
with extra dark jokes on top.
The humming of the latest Top 40
and the song as old as the tale.
Before everything fades and we’ve got into the rotating wheel once again.
Surviving, living.
But let me record this moment longer.
So the feeling would also lingers more.
Sincerely yours,
___
Pusaran kegilaan ini bernama ________.
Di mana segalanya tidak pernah berhenti berlari.
Berlari, yang bukan hanya untuk untuk diri.
Tempat lahir dan mengubur mimpi.
Tempat patah hati dan memulai lagi.
Tentang semua yang tidak pasti dan konsistensi.
Tempat dimana keras bukan hanya soal hati.
Dan hangat bukan hanya tentang rasa.
Menimbang tujuan dan memupuk konsekuensi.
Hari ini, di sini.
Di pusaran kegilaan ini.
In the cold water,
floating,
and lost.
The void in the air.
Numb, yet confused.
The noise in the head.
Loud, but voiceless.
Does condolences ever enough?
Here lies the proof of our common misunderstanding.
Of ambitions, of lies.
The tragedy of human’s greed and the choice to stay away with all of it.
Living under the land of broken hearts, reading The Art of Suffering.
Choosing of being totally energetic, or totally not in love.
Captured in frames, aired in a screen, with a thousand of thumbs.
There is a lot of life out there, with hundreds of words.
Can we really bear it all?
Can we really see beneath it all?
Here lies the proof of our common misunderstanding.
The young are always angry, the old are angrier.
The right will always right, and the left is always left behind.
Why can’t we stop these stream of bytes?
Why can’t we see the silence?
I’m sitting to prove a point and I see nothing but the flashes.
I’m running to the edge of the world and the night sky surrounds me.
It’s bleak yet comforting. It’s lonely but soothing.
We can stop the stream of bytes, but we should never see the silence.
In the sea of tears, under the blazing sun.
Sending letters, to our future self.
Being unsure about things.
Doubtful about any feelings.
Do we get excited anymore?
For the smallest things and the everyday feelings.
I wrote hundreds of lines for you.
About being in love, with the universe and the only life we have.
Most of the time, I’m afraid I cannot keep my words.
I’m afraid I will keep failing that I cannot be the person you always think of.
Here I am anyway, not as brave and optimistic as my younger self.
Still, have a lot of love to give.
Looking forward to other hundreds of lines on progress.
