let me tell you of the raven's sins.

Reading: Who reads anyway, right.
Listening to: the beating of my mind.
Mood: greasy.
2014 September 22, 9:04 PM.


Wednesday, January 25, 2012
2:04 PM

These are 159 earlier poems I posted on my first now-deleted blog amelanniza.blog.com until January 19, 2012. Only three are in Indonesian, and the rest 156 in English. They are arranged in chronological order from the oldest at the top till the last one published at the very bottom of the page. For my newer poems originally published on Blogspot, please click the label Rhyme and Treason.

Dying is an art.

Three Hours of Rain and the Thoughts of You

The cold,
the rhythm,
the silence,
fills the air
The water drops from heaven
The midnight sighs
a peaceful hum
The humming fan
The streaming water
through the mossy aluminum pipes
Faraway in the distance
shyly the thunder gurgles
One second,
the sky cracks open
And then none.
Back to the monotonous midnight
rain rhythm
Fighting; regurgitating
Battling. . .
and losing the game
Waiting. . .
and waiting
for nothing
Waiting for the heart to beat
the soul to breathe
the mind to speak
But nothing.
Looking and searching and hoping and begging
Nothing, nothing still.
What the rain creates
the rain destroys

Tuesday, December 4, 2007, 12:18 AM

If My Love Were a Sunflower

If my love were a sunflower,
yours would be the sun
I can only love if I am loved

Once, you loved me
to the point of forgetting yourself
Love as effusive as that —
its force was violent; overpowering
I could do nothing but surrender

Once, I loved you
better than life
Weeks turned into months,
what have become of us?

No longer you insist on loving me
as loudly as you used too
As if my feelings were ever
repairable — you have become
an opportunist

My voice is nothing to you
Your apology is worthless to me:
Hate is all it brings

What sick relationship
have I got myself into
Am I the saint and you the sinner
Must I forgive you always?

If one day, humans had no words
left to say to each other
still I would make you understand
what I felt for you was not a game

The pain dims the joy;
the tears fade the smiles
A sunflower withers
whenever the sun fails to shine

Monday, March 31, 2008, 12:48 PM

Sun-Kissed Window

The room freezes my skin
I move to the back row
settling myself on a stiff classroom chair
On my right is the sunlit window
I gaze outside through the clear glass pane
Hearing the rummaging of vehicles,
people passing by
The glass feels comfortably warm
When I gently press my bare cold palm
onto its smooth surface,
will you be able to feel me
twelve thousand kilometers apart
safely tucked in your lazy summer bed?

The warmth of the sun starts to soak in
I can smell the sun rays
Like fire burning a metal bar
That particular smell of iron
And the Sun, he sees all parts of the Earth,
doesn’t he?
He greets me now at nine in the morning;
bathes me in his drowsy embrace
And he will come to greet you too,
two hours from now
So when you step outside,
welcome his warmth
That’s my breath he greets you with

Thursday, June 26, 2008, 9:22 AM


tell the truth.
They reflect
what they see.
My love is
the mirror
of your heart.
When you ask
if I love you,
this is
the only answer
I have:
do you love me?
For my love is
the exact
reflection of yours.
Next time you ask,
look straight
in a mirror,
and tell me,
do you love me?

Thursday, December 18, 2008, 2:03 PM

The Plea

Give me your wings, Fairy;
This tooth is yours to carry.
Leave not my window. Stay,
For I, was in a state of disarray.
Scream louder, scream thunder,
Rescue me from this mist of blunder.
And give me your wings, Fairy.
This heart is yours to marry.

Thursday, February 5, 2009, 5:54 PM

Chasing the Last Train

You do not know
The sorrow.
Intoxicate me,
Come tomorrow.

Sip the blood-red wine,
Amuse me.
Silence the tears
Soothe the agony.

Swear the affair,
Bind me.
Sabotage pleasure
Surpass the ecstasy.

Soporific, narcotic, toxic
Spell a single stupefied sound
Say: Am I the only one?
Am I the holy one?

Sedate, opiate, hallucinate
Solidify our kiss under agitated rain
You, chasing the last train.

Shield your morphine derivative heroin
Sing the empty act of loving
I, weaving the broken strings.

Fly to the end of the world
Find me.
Farewell. I lay dying
Free me

Friday, February 6, 2009, 1:25 AM
*The phrase “chasing the last train” was taken from the song “Broken Strings” by James Morrison.

To a Little Fish

I am but imprisoned
Here in a dark burrow.
If you go, I follow.
The skies ease not
The pond is drought
With you the light shines thorough.

I am nothing
Nothing but a stream
There are duties to be done
Lives to be saved
Your soul is hurting
One tries exhorting
Oh but I sense nothing.

Days strum. Hours come.
When you give some
You give none.
While I despair
You flare.

Rain stabs me
Thunder does too
And you.

Swim if you must
Mold me to rust
Die and reborn
My only wish’s
Forever forlorn.

Monday, February 9, 2009, 6:43 PM

Rhyme and Treason

I do not rhyme, Poet;
I reason.

When the days were long and winding,
you found me so much unbinding.
I took a step away from you. The next thing I knew,
You hung by each side of the road, sending me every possible code
Just as I were the overpowering light, and you were a fragile moth.

Worship, idolize, charm; you beg, you cry, and you dote
Twice, thrice, a myriad of never-ending surprise
The love you shower, the bouquet and the flower
To the painstaking and countless hour.

Selling your soul to the Devil you promise me
I am your one and only
We are eternity.
The heavenly touch of your hand,
Sweet caress and gentlest whisper of a man
All the delight explodes into what a woman can stand
Fireworks grand.

Your blinding devotion expires its mighty divine
Save this aching heart of mine
For we are trapped in time, in a garden of maze
The spell is broken; the flame ignites craze
I was yours and past is past.

I need not rhyme, Poet.
My words are reason
And yours are pure
As the purest treason.

Saturday, February 21, 2009, 5:16 AM


I hate. I love. I rage. I tease
I do as I please
What say you in these?

I kill. And I will
You’re not my happy pill
Don’t tell me what to doubt, or what to trust
There’s no logic in doing what I lust.

I dream a sick dream
Night after night, scheme after scheme
Whether it spells your name or someone else’s
I decide what I feel; your argument crashes.

I lie. I deny. I defy and fortify
I twist the truth to tally the trickiest of try
I speak my superpower; I know you fret and cower
When it’s time to remonstrate, I reign the tallest tower.

You explain. You feign. Your brain is on the wane
Everything is said and done. In vain
You pledge. You engage. You stage in every page
Colors of Rainbow paint nothing of your synthetic sage.

For reasons unknown, I flee your decree
I save only this, love, to assert my plea
What is she
oh, what is she?

Monday, February 23, 2009, 2:29 PM

Call Me Insane

Love, call me insane
I have never seen the inside of a train
Were you frightened, were you hurt, were you in pain?
Forgive me. I tried to comprehend
To see the shape of the lament for an end

When you were choked, when you were soaked
In dreams or awoke
Paralyzed, shaken, and you broke
I was there, love, yet silence muted my stroke
The emotions in me you provoked
were covered in smoke
I failed when I spoke

But, Love, powerless as the grams that I am
I feel your fear I taste your tear
In you I find the truest embodiment of a gem
Once a year, dear, I will be here to cheer

Your mauve heart plays its ruinous part
Now you’re all I desire, sweetheart
Today I will stay
Tomorrow means foul play
What great dismay
When I wither away and red turns to gray

Once a year, dear, I will be here to cheer
Forget me not
Time decays. I will defend what I have got
I will come and risk the shot

In a compartment of the next train, love
We witness then. Two trials withstand
To test if I am insane
And prove what I am worthy of.

Monday, February 23, 2009, 6:30 PM

Luck’s Live Bait

Luck, she denied me
Fourteen years elapse
The denial swells too strongly
I am nurtured to befriend collapse

Luck, she abandoned me
Searching high and low, far and fro
The faith fades entirely
My hope perishes eternally
Suicide insinuates the best way to grow
Or so.

Life, Love, Luck, Felicity, Fate
Each tries to make fun of me
They jeer they joke and they jury
Unarmed I am tossed fresh as a live bait
To an ocean of the hideous hunger of Hate
O great.

It suffice not, child, hanging to a four-leaf clover
When Luck insists she toys over and over
You and I are none but her petty little game
She rolls the dice; we all burst in shame
Such fame.

Froward, is the only way to fight
Calm the blow disobey all her might
Luck has nothing on me, child, nor on you
Play as she will we stand still and true
All anew.

Monday, February 23, 2009, 10:08 PM

The Angel of Sentiment

The Angel of Sentiment plays an imitation of God

The Angel of Sentiment journeys in a chariot of lightning
Roams places of unforgiven traces
Of sinners and saints
The funeral of a beloved soul
The chamber of a tormented doll
Such you and me

The Angel of Sentiment feasts as the forbidden twilight embarks
Guides moon to chant a ghostly tune
Lovers divide and enemies take pride
Darkness is the universe
Turning miracles to curse
Just wait and see

The Angel of Sentiment controls the movement of lonesome stars
Enslaves each celestial minion to form solid opinion
Of jealousy that grins through the winds
Embracing the seeds of flower
To crucify, lie, and devour
In symphony

The Angel of Sentiment inhales the dirge of a broken heart
Sprinkles magic of love so tragic
Havoc runs wild in the eyes of every child
When autumn blooms hell
Rain splatters blood smell
No mercy will be

The Angel of Sentiment
is a he.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009, 12:35 AM

Sweeter Than Candy

Betrayal tastes sweeter than candy
One bite and I’m sprite
Sparkling in life’s little delight
Fluttering from one side to side
Savoring all the drama and the trite

Betrayal shines brighter than sun
One gaze and I’m ablaze
Fire is cold and bound to praise
My warmth strikes glee in many ways
Basking in all the craze and the daze

Betrayal completes fuller than love
One blow and I’m aglow
Masquerading an angel with halo
Illuminating from head to toe
Spreading joy and tears below

Betrayal teaches slicker than books
One sip and I’m smart as a whip
Crafty enough to build a ship
On adventures for a pleasure trip
Playing the role of a star and a blip

Betrayal excites stronger than passion
One kiss and I’m bliss
Nights are too short to reminisce
All the sorrow and the wish
Will sing the song of dream amiss

Betrayal inspires quicker than muse
One whisper and I’m stirred
Composing poetry in a rhyming blur
Narrating stories to urge and deter
Words echo strong as the giant fir

And your betrayal, love,
haunts madder than nightmare
One share and I’m despair

Wednesday, February 25, 2009, 12:47 AM

Locked, Drowned, Sedated

The water is inviting
My heart beats wild
My blood is pumped
The water is beckoning
I have its child
I have to jump

Let me escape
A world
The size of an elevator cell
Cannot breathe
Nor I dwell

Inside the water
Where it ripples
And it swirls
Slow as the wind
Yellow as the whin
Flow and I win

Break the seal
Oh let me feel

Afloat and adrift
The healing gift
of serenity
So swift
That it lifts

In a voyage
to tame my rage
The start where I depart
to unchain my brain
Stars mar my secret scars
The finish where I diminish
to liberate my fate
Moon swoons my jolly June

My sail, it pales
Into a state of illusion
Where delusion breeds confusion
My compass, alas
Points to no direction
But down

The water is
Indulging in fizz
Bubbles purge
hidden, untold
and submerge
I am sedated.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009, 3:38 PM

A Jar of Bad Things

Never trust a poet, love
Trust a poetess instead

A poet will flatter, adulate, exaggerate
To his advantage words will not abate
A poisonous viper decoys its prey
Lines play, and your heart is under his sway

Just as a peacock displays its faultless feather
Brazenly he flaunts honeyed metaphors together
If only you see what I see
There is false logic in his poetry

In his poetry intentions disguise as a mantle
Of scarlet cherry syrup preserved in a bottle
Into lemonade each dot and comma composes
Extracting perfume from jasmines and roses

Strings of spider-webs entangled morning dews
His rhyme of angelic melody accrues
A hummingbird flipping tiny delicate wings malign
Sipping dainty nectar from your bewitched mind

Your bewitched mind finds treasure under the sea
Encased in chests of silver, gold, and rarity
Bejeweled swords, daggers, armories, blades
Long-forgotten wisdom of the ancient mermaids

Written in syllables to every of his verse, impure
He will capture; he will lure; he will ensure
The cries of whales echo none of his grief
His poetry charms and you will believe

You will believe as what the tarot cards foretell
His imagery speaks truth of a crystal ball so well
It will hypnotize, mesmerize, and you forget life
Reason and veracity must struggle and strive

His romance encapsulates you in sanctuary
Stranded in a sandy paradise, peaceful and airy
Along the clearest water distilled of stain
With breezes whisper amidst the pain

Amidst the pain you wake and realize
From dreamy promises he tempts to verbalize
A sudden demise leaves you lacerated
The vulture elated; the carrion ill-fated

A jar of bad things murders a mind so wary
In a contemptible junkyard of memory
The saint-like image reveals a demonic face
A distracting, deforming, deceiving grace

Never trust a poet, love
Beware of lemonade
Trust a poetess instead

Saturday, March 28, 2009, 12:07 AM
*The phrase “jar of bad things” was found from a Facebook application named Laurie Pink Presents.

A Living Death

Each sunrise she wakes
Only to breathe, to blow
Where time takes
Her body to actuate
And overflow

Opening doors
Where they command
The trend
To glorify unseen gods
That demand
A meaningless end

A sword that shields
Rotten queasy brain yields
Vomiting sickening consent
Against her. Discontent
Smells like breakfast
Munching, gulping
Sorrows stare harnessed

Her being ephemeral
Form evaporates
It changes shape
Into a robotic snowflake
With shadows that escape
The maggot-infested snake
Slithering somewhere

Downtown, there
A seven-story building swells
With faded white crown
And indigo-windowed cells
Speak too softly and then frown

She starves, the corpse
She winks and she hopes
Streams of starlight
Cast in inky moonlit night
Smothered imaginings
Praise her spirit tight

Till sundown, she sleeps
Runaway into the deeps
Where dreams hate
And sins accumulate
Into a living death

Wednesday, April 1, 2009, 9:34 PM

Steven and Sally

     O’ Steven, Steven my rock star
     Where have you been hiding
     Inside a lab simply crusading
     Up in the clouds with a guitar?

Long ago, a human boy
Named Steven
Fell in love, unforgiven

For sure, it was tragically tricky
He fell in love with a wicked fairy
Named Sally

What was the boy to do?
He could not tame his passion
There laid no other option

The two could never be together
Two worlds of dissonant weather
Yet, Steven loved her still

Sally saved Steven’s life, she did
In jaunty twilight after the sun set
He rode his bicycle from school, fled

From the nightmares of the past
He sped and sped till he was thrown
Miraculously Sally was there all alone

Plucking evening blackberries
To brew her potion to curse
The humans, the Sun, and worse

She revealed herself to the enemy
When she was supposed to be airy
But Steven was on the verge of death

And Sally saw the reflection of grim
Of her own nightmares in him:
Love which was misleading and untrue

April 2, 2009

How to Write a Love Poem

I can write the best love poem
Of what I feel for him, true and solemn
Trying hard to compose inside a room I disclose
feelings so real that readers will thrill
upon the reasons, rhymes, and the shrill
I can conjure up with my quill

But the best love poem must be written right
And today I know not of love, or what its might
I seek and I search, yet the words won’t show
I wish I knew what love needs to grow
All that I taste is pain, tears, and sorrow
That is love to me. My heart died long ago

If love were a town, I would be a stranger
Understand none of its language, nor its danger
The best love poem to me will stay a dream
I sense not its meaning, but to blaspheme
Love is a lie; love is a game
Love is imagination I can never proclaim

Friday, April 3, 2009, 12:44 AM

The Problem with Memories

Where you are, do spring flowers bloom
Monarch butterflies whirl in great volume
Colors celebrate the universe, chosen
in a holy magnificent concentration
Lilac, sapphire, jade, gold, vermilion,
and orange fusion

Fumes with the pinkest of nebulous ivory
of cherry blossoms coats a canopy
As you lie calm underneath and read
idly turning the pages of a frenzied
detective novel you bought to convince
a month since

Old wooden garden benches stand gallant
with rusty wrought iron to ornament
The place we would sit, do you elegize
Our shoulders touching in compromise
and you poking my head playfully
called me silly

An afternoon under the summer drizzles
Feeding the pond ducklings, those angels
carefully lining up behind the graceful swan
By the forest watching with a lost fawn
against the oak’s coarse bark we took rest
facing west

The farthest end of the horizon, does it burn
Blushing dusk forms a fatamorganic pattern
The dandelion meadow you park your bicycle
wiping the lenses of your glasses, hateful
of the filthy smoke from an ancient bus
passing in rush

Fragrant of ripe strawberries in despair
Does it remind you of the scent of my hair
You caressed once in a forbidden dream
Sighing secret oath of faith, in a gleam
sealed with chocolate kisses and a note
with rainbow arch you wrote

Stargazing the stark constellation outside
Past the night I nearly tested suicide
But you coaxed me with persuasion
composed in two short lines of passion
copied from someone else’s poetry
which worked magically

When you open your eyes with the glow
Two robins sing outside your window
Beckoning to listen under the sincerity
of dawn they flitter about merrily
Do you still think of me in violent bliss
calling my name to reminisce

The problem with memories they smell
like flame like fire like hell
Damping the brain drenching the eyes
screaming in the dark like fireflies
You loved you left. They linger
in me I remember

Sunday, April 5, 2009, 10:27 PM


I am here, love
Waiting to be found
And you, you are halfway around
This puzzling planet called Earth

Shut down my sun
Halve me your moon
I am dark
You are light
I am noon
You are midnight

Hang the heartache, love
That everlasting tragedy
Of desire distanced by memory
The past takes control of tomorrow

Ocean of anguish
Irks your quintessence
Antidote of poison
Calms a while
Yet, you cling
And I, I breathe denial

Steal me a star, love
The brightest one you find
To illumine the void of mankind
Ignite in me your flash of destiny

We are frozen
Unite in secrecy
You play distraction
I speak reverie
Happy hopes float
Ah, if only. . .

Are you there, love?
Let go of your fear
For I am here
Missing, and waiting to be found

Saturday, April 11, 2009, 2:33 AM

Honeyed Jealousy

The days are numbered:
one two three, thirty
She will be coming home to you
where the bond is unbreakable
Forgotten I will be

In the meantime, you
being unable to be with her,
possess me and I provide
a temporary amusement
to fill the emptiness she left
inside you: controlling

I failed to see the pattern
Reciting “it would pass”
wordlessly convincing myself
you were worthy of time
Wrongness is my reason

As you choose her over me
in your secret world where it
radiates warm memories
comforting as her immortal
image commands your being
Forsaken I will be

April 14, 2009, 12:52 PM

To a Lonesome Lad

Dare I ask, lad
Who was this girl
Who kept you awake
Alert and somber

Did she steal your heart
Did she bring you joy
Did she paint your world
All full of colors

Will you keep her forever
Will you go to extremes
Just to tell her how much
You hold her dear

The course of your life, lad
Lies in your hands
Happiness shall shine
When one understands
Love asks much more
Than simply to explore

An incident of failure
Has a curious way to lead
To hidden rapture
One you had not expected

Hope dies and hope blooms
With each passing moon
Our worlds will resume
Filled with another fresh tune

Every one of us is alone
The beauty is not to feel
But to find, to struggle
We break; we crumble
The weakness will show
What strength you can glow

Take life as a quest
One giant learning process
Hope is a silly thing
A mirror of silent aching

Challenge and conclude
Trust your fortitude
For someday you will
Prove your mighty thrill

In a labyrinth of impossibility
Depression can’t win, lad
You’re better than that

Saturday, June 27, 2009, 5:05 AM

Drops of Delirium

I was awoken by the midnight rain
Whose melody sang voiceless despair
of you, love
Its cold resonated pain
Every drop on the ground
Every splash on my window pane
Recited your name, your name, your name

At dawn
When the drops turned to dews
Would they disappear from earth
the way you did
Would they, love

At noon
When the sunny daydream soaked
Would cloudburst rage
the way you hurt
Would they, love

When dusk dropped the deadest of the drizzle
Would rain take my life, love
the way you took yours

I wonder

Did your heart explode into tiny fractions as if you were about to go blind with joy
Did the little voices in your head resound my name everywhere you turn
Did you fear tomorrow, or even the next five minutes
Did you love; did you fall; did you go insane
Wasn’t it bliss

And still I wonder

Tell me about your days
Tell me about your feelings
Tell me everything
I won’t regret
I won’t invade
I won’t violate

The illusion of your magic

You’re magic.

Saturday, June 27, 2009, 10:05 PM

My Fire

You were my fire
You were my song
When I was lost
You gave me a home
Your love was stronger
Than a mother’s devotion
Wrapping me inside
A cocoon of consolation
A dream had to end, however
When you disowned me
And cherished me never

Thursday, July 02, 2009, 8:00 AM

To Repel a Broken Spell

Tell me about the Witches
The Wizards and faraway places
The journey on a train
And those journals, on sciences
Break my heart once, twice
Break it every sunrise
And never mend the pieces
Promise me an imaginary kiss
To fetch in another time zone
Sing me a song on a piano
Play me the guitar in a broken tone
Set me a game of photographs
Lines fused to amuse, to play
And the melodious rhymes, love
They will never cease, do they
A string of powerful spells
A spell that binds, that beckons
One that will forever summon
Your bewitched prey
Yes, love, that should tell
The name I will go by and dwell
Should I repel?
Up atop the parking lot
Do you hear the wind sailing
Across the Indian Ocean whispering
The tears of unrivalled devotion
Down below when the night lights
Do you read the faces of the moon
To what she saw twelve hours ago
Do you wonder and question the sun
Will darkness color my unhappiness
Will the shades of lies
Breathe emptiness
Whilst the music of loneliness
From South-East to North
Marks the currents that flow
In a dream where fireflies glow
And you vanish . . .
Into another dimension
Of technicolor nightmares
Where venomous beasts feast
The viridescent marbles of two
Starry eyes radiate the fate
Carved in emotionless shadows
The demons of remembrance
Metamorphose into flesh
Hollow diplomacy veils
The tedious arguments filled
With wordplays, ballerina shoes,
Purple dresses draped in lace,
And dancing corpse of a dead lady
When all your words are poison
More endorphic and addictive
Than the tasty chocolate candy
But you know that already
Don’t you, love
When I love you only on a Monday
Long for you on every other day
To every jealous creature, I tell
All your tales till sorrows pale
O love, how they curse your name
But it is surely I the one to blame
Your superhuman powers will
Stay untouched, unreal
Of the quaint desires that kill
Indifference grows with time
And fades in rhymes, muffled still
Under textbooks and researches
Meteorites fall into hidden spaces
When salt melts mountains of snow
Bethink the first hour of our show
Yet today till the day I die
Hear me lie, love, o hear me lie

Monday, August 03, 2009, 6:08 AM –
Tuesday, August 11, 2009, 1:45 AM

(A Tale of Two)

Love, love, love, don’t make me cry
Night is never the time for tears
Crying is tiring. So, don’t make me cry

If, by any chance, you took my heart
Would you please put it back, right
where it belongs? Inside a blackened
world. The window of forsaken
dreams somewhere I thought I knew

Where little fears sing me comforting
lullabies of the days to come
Tomorrow, will you remember our
transparent rainbow? Or will it be
erased into a never-ending story?

With flowers, fairies, and frogs singing
a soundless memory. In two worlds
divided by a thin sheet of bulletproof
glass so clear it reflects the colors
in your eyes. Can you hear them?

Listen. When the night comes
You must listen. The solution of the
way out of your maze lies in their
sacred garden. The springs of
wisdom will gently pipe the tunes

Of careless nostalgia written in one
hundred different languages unknown
to mankind. And on your way home
Look up pages of ancient books
Might there be the notion of a word

Spelled responsibility. Let us fleet
These verses are meant only
To amuse, bemuse, and abuse
Then let us go. The rhythms await
You and I, love, pass our days mindlessly

As if we would live for ever, eternally
Take every breath with tactless meanders
As if nothing would break and everything
is laden with generosity. Don’t you see?
Nothing works like magic

Not even on a blessed Tuesday
When planets align in their supernatural
symphony, you and I can never be
That is the truest of truth I can guarantee
Fact feels very frightening, yet friendly

Will you wait for me? Because I
know. I will never trust anyone the way I
Drink your honeyed lies. Funny, I
Call your name in threes:
Love, love, love, how easy is trickery?

When you’re in town, would you please
return my heart where it belongs? ‘Cause
night is never a time for tears. Not
when the sun is on a holiday
Sixteen thousand kilometers away

Thursday, June 11, 2009, 10:01 PM –
Saturday, August 15, 2009, 2:46 AM

A Basket Full of Imagery

Fry, fry, fry
Won’t you fry me a basket full of imagery?

Cry, cry, cry
Will you cry me lemon drops covered in misery?

Try, try, try
Won’t you try to love me within this fated tragedy?

Dry, dry, dry
Someday you’ll see, of every dramatic banality
The only one to dry your cosmic agony
Is none but me, your dear delinquent fairy

Invisible silver strings — tangled
Stronger than God’s rage
Stretched from ocean to ocean
Swimming across the Milky Way
Greeting the stars
Sliding through the doors
Of aged churches and Art Deco houses
Passing tempestuous rivers and
Desolate winding roads in the countryside
Drifting through angelic dust of polluted cities
Laughing with the children
From playgrounds to schools
To you

What went wrong after all atrocities
Carved, cooked, clustered,
Chemically combined
Into imaginary imagoes
Inside illegal ignominy
I idly idolized your yearly yawn
Yesterday hundreds habituated
Headaches hourly hearkened
Hazelnuts fell from faraway
Fantasies and airwaves avenged
Any artless alexandrine alliteration
Whose wretched woe would we wake
Which warlock would warn the wry witch
Will you?

Pry, pry, pry
If worlds were glued into one sour globe of insanity
Would you pry me away from your eccentricity?
In red, I bled, dead. Dread, bathe me in your charade
Extreme ecstasy endlessly etched
When you fry a basket full of imagery

Friday, August 15, 2009, 6:47 PM –
Saturday, August 22, 2009, 3:37 AM


He told me of the fireflies
How they fluttered and dwindled
Across the woods nearby
The rushing leaves that sparkled
Under the lightless sky
The breeze that ran wild

He told me of his father
The man I only know by name
And he, unknowingly, by pain
How he recited the end of his flame
A sardonic murmur
A discolored irony
A tale, true as a heartbreak
Across the fields of golden grains
Of rice and ghostly coconut trees

Defending the rights of his country
Only to greet an unexpected gunshot
When he did nothing, unarmed
The house they consecrated
Was burnt to the ground, where
Mutinous nothingness hung high
The rustic life they knew was
Forever silenced into injustice

Of attacking another’s land
Of stripping the rights to defame
Of enslaving another race
Of people living a nameless lie
Staging materialistic heroism
Called war
Liberty was the color of white
Anything else seemed worthless
Greed built kingdoms of empty
Hopes and blood
Colored the crusade for freedom

Easy was to teach a child to hate
Slowly he grew to wake
Slaying the dragons of the past
The screams that never stopped
Began to suffocate
The five years he spent of knowing
The man he called father by loving
Concluded in nothing, but confusion
Of raging fire, of the final episode
A family left with no more conviction
But wrong

Revulsion is automatic inheritance
When one can only live
To tell the tale of repressed grief
I know what it means to feel
A dispirited part of convenience
Through stories of fireflies
And the suffering
Of subconscious remembrance
This is how I learned my history

Sunday, June 28, 2009, 11:08 PM –
Saturday, August 22, 2009, 6:24 PM

Immoral Immortals

O foreign knight, command the Atlantis-scented breeze
To unravel my immoral adaptations of your nocturnal kiss

One future dawn, these arms will aim an arrow far and farther
To rout your unparalleled pride as the start of disaster

Beware! For seventy nights you shall bleed perpetual blood
Crimson soars; rubies flood. The shame for their mundane fame

Understand who I am. My words are my swords. I am rage
And you shall battle. Your youthful beauty will cage

The God of Mischief inside a world so silent. As a blade’s serpent
I am jealousy. My love is my shove. My stain is my brain

My desire kills. And my breath is your death. You are my prisoner
Of faith. Trust my lust, o foreign knight. Surrender to my thunder

Did you not beg Heaven, to taste the heat of my virgin lips?
Did you not wish it were I enshrouding you in every eclipse?

Did you not comprehend? Those emeralds in your eyes must
See none but me. Ponder not for you are made to hate, and

To dominate. How our immortal bodies dreamt of each other
Long before time dissolves into these countless minute years

Many a sand of while before unspoken pain melts into tears
Did our mourning souls not transmit telepathic heartaches?

I have awoken the monsters within you. Cry not for our ill fate
O foreign knight, why do you deny? You and I are Devil incarnate

One curse shall never suffice. No reason will ever devise. Glory
Awaits. Preserved in the deepest sea of magnificent creation

Why do you defy my mission? When it is clearly projected to
Every shade of Aurora painted in intensity. Bewildering to

Capture your need of creativity. The secret skies you hide
Will never disguise the scent of your sex. Do not misguide

O foreign knight, my words indulge. Valid as a prophecy
You will reveal the very worship of your sacred hypocrisy

Monday, August 24, 2009, 2:44 AM – 8:48 PM
*A response to Gustira Pahlevi’s poem “sacred hypocrite”.


In the city where the lion speaks
Starlight bites my witching hour
Your suicidal plea croons a storm
Inside my head

I will not write of you

Lonely is the sanity
From the plague I try to marry
In a room full of watchful eyes
And theatrical neon lights

Has the lion devoured you?

Or are you breathing somewhere
With strokes of faceless bodies
Prancing senselessly in miracles
Of 1980s rock bands

Tell me where

Or has the lion seduced you?
Those lights betray me
I will not be silenced in electricity
Neither shall you

What is a hyperbole? What
constitutes an irrelevant euphemism?
Your words were my nicotine
My presence was your apocalypse?

Madness is not your sole right
For I request mine, too
And you accuse the Devil
Of purchasing my heart

That is half wrong, if only you knew
What the shadows know

In his lair the lion trapped you
You were drugged, but only willingly
Dare you not speak of it?
Has it scarred you too deep?

Forgive me for choosing
The path unknown to your people
I have sinned for mentioning love
In past tense

How can one be too vain
Proclaiming the wonder belongs
To someone else
With a different name

My name is unspeakable
You shall not call it
I shall not use it

The gods reject my sacrifice
The same way I toss your memories
Into a pool of toxic waste
Flown by fairy dust

O scarlet pills and malachite syrup
Green as grass; juicy as moss
I gulp to regain my voice
Once stolen by the Sea-Witch

Have you tasted my voice?
Or have you stolen it too?

Pretense is my best subject
Only second to Monogamy
My guilty conscience is wrapped
In a bottle of rose-scented perfume

Kissed by coconut-milk butterflies
That soothe your lust, becoming
A series of orgasmic conversation
Written on pink carcinogenic clouds

And misanthropic orange Tuesdays
Our secrets are safe
The universe hears not of us
When the clock seals at 3:35

Time fails to bring you back to life
Your impure wisdom teaches none
But invisible heartaches
This is not how to love a woman

I am his

Sunday, September 27, 2009, 1:13 AM –
Monday, September 28, 2009, 3:47 AM

The Vampyre

Whose blue eyes are these
Are they yours?

No, replied the Vampyre
Mine are black: dull as a tomb
For they only glow
Whenever I smell the blood
Of virgin men

These cherry lips, tempting me
Are they yours?

Mine are whitish: anemic as reality
With no love to speak
No warmth to give
Once in a full moon they kiss
With the sigh of adultery

These fiery locks
Are they yours?

Mine are black: colorless as the past
Surely, they never see sunlight
For I am bound in privacy
Unless, the snakes sing
Bringing the news
Of pretty preys

How about this rosy complexion
Is it yours?

You are mistaken, she said
Mine is but lifeless: pale as horror
Gray as a fish carcass
It radiates winter
Except, when it is sparked
With the juice of jealousy

This sugary smile is yours
Is it not?

It is not. Mine is murderous
Mean as a demon: it merely deludes
And secretes dishonesty
Indeed, it may console
In a parade so enchanting
As the seven deadly sins

Such womanly touch
Whose is it, yours?

Mine is far from womanly
It is covered in spider webs, in dust
It is as coarse as rust
It is the fuel of catastrophe
Its sting will heal, however
With the power of prejudice

But this sanguine heart
Must be, it is yours?

Can you not see I have no heart?
If it were mine, it would be black
Black as betrayal; dark as despair
That is the heart that I wear
It bleeds unmistakable red
When it is stained with your tears

And I, am I yours?

Shhh… say no more, love
Ours is secrecy

Monday, September 28, 2009 10:57 AM –
Tuesday, September 29, 2009 12:04 PM

Noon Dreams and Moon Beams

I should be sleeping: it is noon
I should be dreaming,
Dreaming to catch the Moon

Won’t you let me catch the Moon
And bring it home for you?
Her beams shall suffice
To enliven every corner
Of your sunless world
Called solitude

So let me build titanium stairs
Just as the icy night petrifies
Step after step I climb
In amethyst films, wakeful
To reach the center of our sky
By tomorrow

Meanwhile, why don’t you do
What you do?
When Hell drops a visit
Book the quickest shortcut
To run from reality
Like you always do

Why can’t they see what I see?
You love me, unequivocally
And I, after nine and other years
I, too, choose to love you
Perhaps a little stronger
Than my Moon stairs?

Hate electrifies my temper
For those disposable poets
You shall never hear
Their drama exhibits truth
Played in a week or two
Till their masks wear off

But your love intensifies
More heroic than Moon stairs
And Hell’s sentimental glare
Sometimes it grows wings
Those acidic wings that
Launch angry rocket missiles

Big enough to carry me and you
Floating from one little planet
To another, finding our home
Since none will see what we find
In each other’s divinity
Devious as we are

Ordained to shield
In as few words as possible
A foretold bond avowed
Unknown to them
And their human eyes
We expose the invisible

Trouble is our comfort
As bloodhounds we scent
Vamping our messy incantations
Barbaric, accidental, irreversible
Sipping the secret knowledge
Of prehistoric chapters

Resurrecting extinct norms
Dark, romantic, askew
I learn to mature in times
Of ennui and dead clocks
Our corrosive dreams and
Vagrant doors, artfully tucked

Under erroneous noon
I shall wreck my stairs
And by tomorrow
You will have your Moon

Sunday, November 08, 2009, 12:42 PM –
Friday, December 4, 2009, 10:01 PM

Lucid Bluish Illusion

     “My second-rate poetry just is not enough to describe you.”
     — From the song “Breathless” sung by the band Adorable,
     written by Stephen Williams, Robert Dillam, and Kevin Gritton.

Love, this is but a dream, prolonged for a year
or two. You and I are complete with the insignificance
of what is wrong and untrue. How lonely are my hours,
how bitter are yours? In times of trouble, I call his name.

I walk under your sky and pass your streets.
These streets know your name. The sky looks paler
than the lucid blue in your eyes. People and cars race
in fast-forwarded motions, and everything goes
in a one-way stream, contradiction after contradiction.
People should live happily. Why can’t we?

Immortality finds her way home in seven hundred
and eighty days. Home to where Time beats slower
than tomorrow. The countless sordid nights you and I
spent oblivious of each other, where have they flown?
To a place where people live on edible dreams, you said.
Somewhere you and I will never go.

I lust for the ice in your eyes. So powerfully blue,
it grows a garden of hysteria inside the City of Grace.
Have I sinned for innocently shooting your Cynthia?
For she chopped my brain and gobbled it down
with a can of root beer. But my cardboard heart,
the one that you fed to your dog, will never break.
Today it carries the breeze of gasoline after
a sunny rain. Why don’t you have a bite too?
The taste is right for your liking: a sprinkle of tears.

Where is Sleep when I need her? It’s seven thirty.
I need a time machine and paper planes to fly me
twelve thousand kilometers landing on the southern
town of your country. Knocking three times before
I enter the house you once lived as a blond child
with the sneer of an angel behind the bittersweet
lens flare. The past is not the place to be.

I bury myself there, under the acacia tree—
where promises are stored as genuine artifacts
in the National Museum. My name is written
in ten thousand neurotic pencil strokes. My flaw
detonates seismic waves inside your stomach.
And love is the synonym of shelf.

Sunday, November 15, 2009, 1:26 AM –
Saturday, December 5, 2009, 12:37 AM

A Lesson in Phonology

Absence breeds insanity. Insanity writes.

Tragedy in your native tongue. Remember—
I, contesting your fermented pronunciation,
interrupted: read slowly. Reciting Hippolyte’s
infatuation, your acrylic mind bounced from
words to rhymes, illuminating in all earnest.
A slightly panic injection after each paused

translation. Sylvia seeded the commotion. Always,
always her. Too amorous. Too awkward. You
spurned. I conjured. Breathless, your hollow
cheeks blushed, decoding two hundred and sixty
nine cruxes. Nothing was more attractive. Such
shy creature you were. Your sorrows unspoken;

your words animalistic; your ego surpasses the sky.
October was the night I deemed you were a star
among the holy electronics. The month I was born
and never grieved for any gift but your voice. Your
eyes shone to match the colors of the thunder
an inch away from the grass we sat. Their intent,

childlike blasphemy never escaped my memory.
You muttering Phèdre; I staining a black
waterproof dragonfly on your left palm. Foolery,
you called it, never wiping it off. How excessive
was your hypocrisy. Sycophancy conserved my
smile behind a two-story shopping mall. I have to

stop sounding sentimental. And you need to buy
yourself a cup of sensitivity. Our Racine Park is
shifting into a glass skyscraper this year. I thought
you might want to know. Never will you hear of
me, but the syllables. I wonder how Sylvia is today.
Does she get to hear your reading of another

romantic play? I would not let myself fall into
another state of irrational longing. Because I
cannot talk to you. Unlike you, I keep my
oath intact. What have I done of my days?
Going deep into the forest where
your image follows me—

Saturday, December 5, 2009, 3:12 AM –
Saturday, December 12, 2009, 4:51 AM

Right and Left

O wintery month, o wintery moon,
soliloquize a song of Michigan snow,
cry me rumors of the silver spoon,
and riddles of the white crow. . .

Will you teach me how to spell
in the warmth of a machine
and the alchemy of a window?

Grant me this: a descant of despair.
Nary a tear nor a slightly tense of air.
Grief not, for your wishes are bare,
sick and unfair: they will not care.

Dream of revenge; write to avenge.
Won’t you dance amongst the stars?
Dull dreary stars of the inviting
imperfection, tardiness, blatant

manipulation. Holidays spent unwise
as a sundial measuring time by the
length of shady markings on the
sphere. Predicting weather with

a pipe of roosters’ call and mice’s
brawl. The pursuit of hallucinogen,
to bring home a spoonful of sundry
sundrops with detached emotions

of your exchange. One can never
decipher the climatic change of
your presence. Too cold when you
are here; too hot there. Excuses

unbound. Lift, vertically, your index
finger. Press the supple, moist flesh
of your filthy lips onto it. Press hard,
hard like you mean it. Lose control.

Let go. Thus I kiss you. Have the
details escaped your observation.
Do I fill the slot of an empty chance.
Anathematic romance. I hold you

the way I hold a flashlight inside a
deathlike twenty-four-hour blackout.
Your hieroglyphic terror. Your cruelty
my sanctity. Look up look up look up.

A beautiful literary specimen.
You are sleep; you are salvation.
You are delight, disaster, delusion.
You are right. And I —
I am turning left.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009, 1:39 AM –
Wednesday, December 23, 2009, 10:07 PM
*A response to Steven’s poem “The Vastness of Space”.


She was half pink, half nude
Reflecting your hushed prayers
With two square eyes so large
So translucent they were mirrors
Leading to the soul of your soil
Her many feet, uncountable,
Welcoming a fruit fly
Buzz. And another. Made two
Ceramic — glossy flossy —
Cloudy and clandestine
Stained by the dirt of a girl
Brushing her hair orbiting to magnify
Her eyes her flies
Her interstellar dementia
She was stained as I witnessed the crime
Her cylindrical brain mismatched
Her body holed

I was half black, half brown
Frequenting her (not regularly but)
Enough. In search of a god
For they revered her more
From lighthouse to shore
But I —
I was coincidental
Quite monumental I was hers
From five to six thirty
Posing as an egoist
Bestowing my strands of hair
For the miracle
In ninety minutes
Past a quarter of a century

She: my anodyne
The scratches of her tinted skin
Grew wilder
Invoking evil. More stains
— a stage fright of complaints
A waiting room

December 14, 2009, 5:46 PM –
December 24, 2009, 11:22 PM

Gore, Paramour, and All That Gala Décor

A corpse is a toy. Not just any dead body, but one
decapitated, raped, or brutally reshaped. Its blood
turns black as cherry juice; so syrupy it resembles
cranberry sauce preserved in the rarest champagne
of Italy. A train glides over it, grinding bones with a
choo-choo sound. Have a tiny bite. Relish slowly.
Swallow. It must taste like peanut butter fudge with
extra mint leaves. Bathe it in a spray of dandy
perfume: Carnage. Naturally one has to sneeze
when it is too much. But for you, Isabella, you, you,
you and the numerous members of your youthfully
anomic lot, Sadism is comedy, is it not? Killing sounds
spicy. As chili. Fragrant. As strawberry. No. A corpse
is never a toy nor sadism is joy. Let us go to a party,
shall we? Tonight features one of those indie rock
bands you dote upon. You and I and your one-year-
old baby will look perfect as three. Because apples
and pears make no stairs to Bedfordshire. Ahh…
the subtle dictionary of violence. Your lover will not
mind for he should be so busy abusing another face
into putrid images you call art. After all, art in 2009
is godly as profanity. Won’t you agree? Yes, I shall
poison your mother if that is what you want me to do.
For you, Isabella. You and your seductive lavender
eyes. I will do what I cannot do. For you. Tomorrow
we will sail to our Sycamore Island, when the morning
breathes fire and the day is dying. You and me, your
illicit Ez. We are decaying. Two pages of a Byzantine
book ruling the world in our nightly brook. It is written
as folie à deux: madness for two. Here, have some
chamomile tea with two red ants for your cold. For
your coldness. Speak your ghastly photographs. Of
disturbance. A society’s decadence into the Dark Age.
Slaughter smells like laughter. Right, Isabella?

December 25, 2009, 9:19 AM –11:40 PM

Avenge Apathy

Dark imprisons within
nightmare of stupor
Legs immovable
eyes blind
heart hollow
The cry outside
something to listen to
Inside is hunger
of elapsed reality
Caught in the arms
of the machine
What is enough for you
what is it of me
For me subdued
I miss you not
If you must
know the hunger
suffocates flavor
of fables
Cringes the youth
of past
Soundless water
drops somewhere
flammable ? the eyes
the cheeks
the drying under the sun
I shun life because
life shuns me
I shun you
because you break me
You are looking
he is waiting
I am dying

Wednesday, January 13, 2010, 8:32 PM


Artificiality is there
when no one else is
Unspoken words are barren
as the vulgarity of alienation
is synonymous to disdain
When I cry, I cry words
So immaterial
they are unheard of
But what am I without sex?
Never an attosecond
of your time
Everything is testing
yet everyone should be happy
Happiness will never be enough
for everything, or everyone
If you are glad, I shall be happy
You should be happy with them
I will be what I am:
embracing darkness
for it is a friend
My lethal Sun warms me
when I change ugly
It is the color of tang,
of stoicism

Thursday, January 21, 2010, 4:28 AM

Killing Hope

More than miraculous —
how hate replaces love
swiftly: in less than an hour

If I decide to sleep,
perhaps this night
Will I see you in my dream?
Or will you disappear
they way you do

If I decide to miss you,
perhaps this morning
Will you stay up all night
to miss me too?
Can affection travel
from island to island —

But worry not
I had killed Hope
a very long time
before I knew you
Hate replaces love
the way I replace you

I am happy
if you are
One less lonely soul,
you are
I am happy
to see you
One less worried soul,
to see how good
of a person
you are

Friday, March 05, 2010, 3:35 AM


This is how a heart breaks:
For you, I am fine, and always will.
For them, I am standing, sane and thrilled.
For him, I am a memory, a name, a face, a sound
rummaging in his head like a bad dream.
I am a speck of knowledge
rotten with arguments I end
in nine hundred and seventy six.
Which is fastest, Sylvia?
When they are silenced, it slithers
down my arm, warm
as freshly-shed tears, shears
like the fragrance of transfluthrin
seizing my lungs. Starvation initiates.
But which?

Dear Prince, your Swallow stayed;
mine does not. We shall go on,
shan’t we? Roses, I am calling to sniff your
blade. Now, scissors, do not leave me
with sharp objects for there will be
casualty. Does lightning jest
whenever a heart breaks?
Miscalculation in my 3 AM vein: Sweat is
orange and vanilla too meek
for my mistake. I had to hug an ashen wall,
a giant to keep myself from falling—
it was chalky as a function that he becomes
but not I. So I press to begone.
Blood on my lips, there will be
blood on my fingertips. Will a cow graze
in strawberry fields to cultivate a box
of strawberry milk?

It is I. Goddess is my middle name.
You and your distance. You never
believe me. A question is in question, see?
His lead I follow. Of three green bells,
served in cracked melamine plate,
water-apples are crushed, as I, to the ground,
where positivism types in mystery:
I howl. Like an owl, aged with alienation
she snarls to the trees. Shadows spin,
that I know. But the djin?
The holy tiger spirit?
They whisper I should have written
when I was in clotted pain
in biorhythmic flesh. Blitz
is how a heart breaks, Sylvia.
Which is fastest to Death?

Saturday, May 8, 2010, 12:23 AM

A Visit to the Stars

1:04 AM

Friendless, I visit the stars.
Stars are a little town
called Bruguieres
where my love lived and died.
Love is a lie, you see.
One day it swears eternity;
the next it abandons me.
If I visit the stars,
will you come with me?

Midnight sells nothing
but wee drops of milky rain
that fly me to the roof,
so I buy and I fly and I lie
on a rainy blanket under the stars
where I know nothing
of everything—
glossy gold blemishes
my crimson clouds; I count.

Careless, Death knocks
on my door. But I—
was busy counting the stars.
Midnight strikes twenty to nine:
a watch locket hanging
on my chest
ticks to the beating
of my secondhand heart.
Will Death come with me?

4:04 PM

Afternoon celebrates
as hypocrisy is stamped
on each face with a say.
One cooks; two scream;
I seek the comfort of water.
O’ tainted stars, was I not
the girl who was
better than cocaine?
They question my sanity.

7:55 PM

Hopeless, I wish for thunder.
May sings me laconic lullabies
from atop a mango tree
that cries. O’ lightning wars,
hear my plea: Forsake the love,
this sick sweetness I feel
in me. Dry starlit evening
springs from the street
outside to tempt.

Romance is a thirteen-year-old
postcard. Furiously,
I am losing my voice—but
will a postcard perish, Emily?
Colorless are imaginings;
so green they forget
the ideas of Paradise.
Sleep, in vain, for a minute
I pay a visit to the stars.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Dandelion Mirror

I found my Edgar amongst the dead.
Morning was tardy. Again, Misery
outlawed my spell; she mocked.
A lone raven who would prop
my treacherous spirit into one saintly
gaze: he was vulnerable, microscopic,
yellowish as damp would defile
a pair of acerbic eyes—mine
weathered with languor
of a committed wage-slave
embracing the start of a day’s
errands in a bucket
of reluctance.

His one-eyed black cat,
the age of a newborn,
studied exhausted alacrity I
wished but failed to endeavor.
She crept with such grace
not unlike Misery, twice the mockery.
Foreday lane led me to a mirror lake,
one teasing me to drown. She did
that whichever I was in pain.
Ravenous children were waiting
on another end, I mumbled.
Wednesday was not a time
for grotesque drama;
it could wait until midnight.

Festive slender dragons roamed
the concrete and warped me there
slashing hazardous traffic lights
that never veered green. Spiteful,
humans were at the fright of day,
as slothful wage-slaves reverting
to our goldmines. Hurry,
Edgar love, they would pocket
the dragon that belonged
to you and me. Fashionably
late couple brought no good
when society punished
the deviants. Waste not.
Unpunctuality is
an indication of sociopathy.

Jaded, inhabitants grew cynical
to national famine spanned
year to year; we kept none
but the mines. True, I
nourished each in affection
and condemnation till
lassitude scorned and the day
was done peacefully; I was scared,
hence insincerity. It was easy
to play happy. They all saw
what society ruled them to see.
Forbidden query: to aggravate
inquietude, temporarily.

Came the dandelion mirror I
dreaded so. Agonize I could
of one so eloquent as witchery
rippled in flammable twilight.
Reflective lake calling me—
dandelions slurred and they
sullied. Swear I would I was
not hearing voices; my Edgar
was with me. He knew as much
as you knew: I used him, much
as I used you, to extract my core
from Pandora’s box.

He was safe, inside
purplish cobwebby velvet so
scenic as the waters, safe as I.

Thursday, May 13, 2010, 1:33 PM –
Saturday, May 15, 2010, 8:30 PM
*An exercise based on Poetry Prompt #2:
mirror, hazardous, dandelion, famine, committed.


Soak this heart in bleach
Wash its redness pure
Of the sin
That urges
Your beauty

Fret not, beauty, for I am well

Lure this moony firefly
Place him in a diamond jar
Kiss it once
And bring home
A dream

Fret not, dream, for I am well

Pump these paralyzed lungs
Seal with brevity
Of breaths
That run through
My carbonated tears

Fret not, tears, for I am well

Catch these rancorous rains
Boil a bowl of rainbow
When woe withers
Let us find a shop
Vending strength

Fret not, strength, for I am well

Lock this untested mind
Open a truncated life
To a pair of rosy lips
That betray
Your sincerity

Fret not, sincerity, for I am well

Ploy these insomniac bees
Lead their queen up North
Pass Luz-Saint-Sauveur
Asking, how are you
To a clock

Fret not, clock, for I am well

Waste this insufficient love
May it be punctured
As a gas balloon
That halves
Our eternity

Fret not, eternity, for I am well

Weave this sinister hair
Form oblivion; cut loose
From Tuesday
That rebirths
My darling

Fret not, darling, for I am well

This bleached heart

Tuesday, May 25, 2010, 4:00 AM – 1:23 PM

When Grief Flirted with Jest

I am Loneliness
and alone

I am Spite

I am Agony
and forgotten

I am Grief
with Jest

I am a broken heart
with Time
too tightly
to the past

I am a bad metaphor
For I, too, misrepresent
as you
And you,
who are you?
Do you tell
a story, too?


Dear Life, I
question God
It is sexless,
is It not?

Capitalism constructs
an education
May I
be excused
a while
and run
to another world?


Only this, I know:

as if I had no tomorrow
but I do

love, attention, etcetera
but I live,

what needs to be done
but I know
to say
not to

at the sky, bluish blue
it was


Everyone forgets
and I am intangible,

do you
of unclouded


There was once
a boy
who loved me,
and I did, too
But we cannot
will not

And everyone abandons
Everything ends
but words

Strings of words
shine so silvery;
they wake me
And sing me
of Death


Dear Death,
What they say
of me
remains untrue

What I say
of me
so true


Answer me
And only answer me

You, Sweet Stranger,

Thursday, June 17, 2010, 7:30 PM –
Wednesday, October 20, 2010, 2:18 PM

A Final Prayer

My blue-eyed boy,

My Cedric,
the sum of my heart,
the long-forgotten prayer,
you need to think.
You are lost and confused.
I am crying and trying.

I thought about what I would say to you.
You and the whole world told me
I would find another.
What do you know of how I feel?
Only I know what I know.
I feel what I feel.
This decides the course of my future.

I know I love you
more than the whole universe
can ever love you.
I have no other in mind.
It took me the whole two years
and seven months
to realize this.
But now I know.

I had to pass days and nights
filled with unstoppable tears,
fighting not to burst into crying
in a bus full of strangers,
covering my face with a pillow
so no one will hear
the sobs from my room,
afraid to go out
with the obvious redness
around my eyes.
Erasing the evidence of sorrow
on my face
will never fool six-year-old twins.
But now I know
what I know of you.

I know I am still waiting
to have your first kiss
under a million Jakartan stars.
I know I will never feel like this
about any other.
I know I will throw away my life
for you to love me.
My suffering tells me
all I know.

And your suffering
is nowhere near mine.
Yours is consoled
with the promise of another.
A girl you made a promise to.

Was she there for you
in your darkest hours,
when you had no job,
when you were sick,
sad and depressed?

Did she keep a rainbow postcard
since she was seventeen,
rewriting all the words twenty times
to fit into the small white space,
searching the malls
to buy the perfect markers
and heart-shaped stickers,
tripping on a rock
that wounded her toes
to mail you the card?

Did her face light up
with the brightest smile
thinking about you?

Did she write poems
and prose about you,
mentioning your name?

Did she repeatedly rehearse
in her mind, the day
she would meet you
at the airport?

Did she have to tell
everyone she knew
how broken she was
when you left her?

Did her sky,
her streets,
her bedroom walls,
and the chairs of her offices
remember your name?

Does she walk
looking at the ground,
so afraid
that the blue of the sky
will remind her
of your eyes?

Will her world
become a black hole
of nothingness
if you leave her?

Because mine will.

And you,
did you
cry out her name
in your loneliest hours?

My feelings can never
influence yours.
I do not want your pity.
If you are happier
with another, go to her.
August will not be long.
I am happier
when you are happiest.
I will be fine.

I was a fool
to let you slip away.
I was a fool
for not recognizing Love
when it was screaming at my face
the whole time.
I am sorry for hurting you
with my constant bickering.
It was all for the fear
of losing you.

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

With twenty nine years
of inexperienced
I love you, Cedric Jean.

Your best friend told me
to go to you.
All I have is
three thousand dollars
and Insanity.
Neither will get me to you.

I am happiest
to be able to hold your hand
in mine, just once in my life.
What do you know?
What does the whole world know?
You are my drug,
the only cure to my Loneliness.

Today I, an agnostic
who lost all her hopes,
hushed my final prayer:

Dear God,
make him mine.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010, 8:29 AM

The Gift of Naivety

If the woman you thought
intelligent was I,
you thought wrong

I was born with a gift
of naivety
So foolish I
did not see things
So foolish I,
at twenty nine,
did not see

Who should be
more foolish
than I,
but me?

And you
with your plans
for glory,
what have you
to teach
a foolish woman
to see?

June 23, 2010


and your unwanted
prophecy, always true
as the Sun does warm

and the gift of naivety
will never see the signs
of censored Infidelity

In August he goes
to a land called China
— to see her —
with a passport he made
for a town named Jakarta

But how foolish
can a tragic romantic
woman be?

I was counting
the days:
nine hundred fifty six

I was waiting
for a thief
to bring back
my stolen heart

rose-colored glasses
unable to see
the signs of Infidelity

Will the blood
that governs the courage
burst in one direction

as the brutality
of Betrayal pains
my black eyes red?

Ask the water
ask the air
ask the Earth
if Love is fair

How foolish
a tragic romantic
woman can be

and your magic piano
venting misleading hopes
sit still

as I,
with the gift of naivety
turn paper white
good night

June 23, 2010

A Badly-Written Love Story

An angel with no wings,
you fell out of the sky

A Tuesday afternoon
in Paris,
you and Ms Parker
were forgotten

The second Tuesday
a month onward
I, sodden in
holiday monotony,
found your star
twinkling and timely
You remembered me

And I remembered you
better than Temerity
Stung of what I felt
Fate teased; I missed
It was nice
to meet you too

A smile, so appetizing
A name, so arresting
Dreams threatened
Odds taken
in three sudden days
against limitations

Infatuation committed
a crime, injustice
and I stole you
I should have known
not to take
what was not mine

But you, were Paroxysm
once, I wanted to secure
those idyllic hours
of escape, of wishes
Of your plan to sleep
on the floor
holding my hand

How long has it been
since I had my
portions for foxes
rocking in my mail
before Ezra’s sentence

Will you tell me stories
of a walk home
in icy wintry wind
with two sketchbooks

Will I know
when France has
its hour change
this year

Will you remember
the spelling of
my three names
when you warily type
seven lines of I love you
in a fourteen year old
alter ego

Will you remember
how to say it
in Indonesian

Will you decipher
C, L, Y
written in nine

Will you stay sleepless
till four to write me
vigilant moonshine
with a hidden

Will you giggle and fail
not to think about me

Will love and shelf
bond together
when I lose that seismic
wave, will I still be
your earthquake

Will I still be
your pink moon
as you slowly fall
asleep writing me
the greatest

Will my rusty knife
rip away a part of you
when I say nothing
in a day

Will you remember
the seventh Tuesday
so orange with rainbow
colors, so juvenile
in all sincerity

Will tears tinge your eyes
reading this as you shy
away from the window
letting no one see
the sorrow in your heart
of losing the past

You will not

What you will
is to try more and
more constellations
of which I am not
Screening instantly
from one to the next
in less than a week

When you say
the woman, she
will not be me
but someone else
with slight similarity

You and your blindness
cannot see the one
waiting faithfully

And there should be
no need for an order
to stay farther than
twelve thousand

because memories
erase themselves
As the seasons go
you mature with time

Memories are locked
in house number three
because this is another
badly-written love story

with the angel
growing strong sturdy
wings lofty enough
to buy a ticket
to Freedom

And I am just
another random
electronic fairy

with nothing to give
but words so barren
they fade to grime
before delivering
an ancient love letter

Thus, forgive
the mediocrity of my
second-rate poetry

So weak it fails
to make you
think of me

Thursday, June 24, 2010, 6:01 PM -
Friday, June 25, 2010, 7:30 PM


Since I know not how
to make you believe
the depth and certainty
of my sorrow,
today I am but

All things squander
somewhere; someday
Time chooses to
subtract the meaning
from Life. I shall be
but forgotten.

As you lived once
inside of me, waiting
for the imperfection
of Passion: an imitation
of Pain, of Mutiny
in one amiss euphony.

Distraction is done —
quicker than injury
of distilling the mind.
It perforates through.
Mornings — nights
are breezy, too easy,

kinder than Devotion,
sucking in Satisfaction.
The knowledge of
Victory squashes
Truth, agreeing
to a conspiracy

of Silence.
Estrangement is
the warmth of the
Sun. As it nourishes,
Expression blankets
the wounds

in a beautified
waterfall of Serenity.
What good is Love
if erasable?
Hatred begins with
a fever as the body

heats itself from the
core to the skin and
the brain suffocates
from too much
discarded longing
that turns to ache.

Everything detaches.
Loneliness constitutes
Existence, as Lies
fuel the Universe.
Sentiments cheapen
for the better.

What was once there
ceased to be.
I see none of you,
but me. When lovers
play strangers, ours
is emotionless:

an unfeeling Frost.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010, 2:14 PM -
Friday, July 16, 2010, 10:52 PM

To a Songless Sparrow

Only if you wish to:

Bottle up the gleam
of every star you see;
pour it into your melody,
and sing it out loud
in the middle of the day.

Should I cry at midnight
for the loss of a voice
that used to read me
a poem, a French play,
sing me a song of stars
in the middle of your day.

August 30, 2010, 4:31 AM

Suicidal Sunday

Sunday was suicidal
I wanted nothing but Death
Sleep sedated for mere two hours
And then, then came the rash
the unbearable itch:
Despair attacked
She visits every decade
I was hers ten years ago
as I am hers today
She misses me
too much she wants to stay

Unstoppable tears saturated my face
vision blurred; mind incoherent
Impossibility glides from day
to day — it weakens
Our future is settled:
There is none

The sting wears off to hide
in the forgotten past, and I try
A battle was once won; I am stronger
Time ages gradually in the company of
insomnia to free me from all prejudice
Of a powerless body,
a mind weathered by hopelessness
is the self you see in me
Abstraction, perplexed, looms
from every corner of my fuzzy eyes

Last Friday was the kindest of its kind
At last I purged you
from the center of my mind
Relieving: more heightened than joy
But how can I not see
them who resemble you
a little, or much, too much
exactly like you
My blue-eyed boy, whose are you?

And you promised to hold my hand
You promised
Will you press it hard
onto your left chest for me to hear
the pulse that beat for me
last August

But whose are you in August?

This bed knows no sleep,
But a pair of darkened eyes
No rest, but two tired legs
No dreams, but nightmares
This bed knows no you,
but endless arguments

Friday, April 10, 2009, 5:35 AM –
Monday, August 30, 2010, 1:13 PM

I Weep in Cadmium

Dear Agony,
You teach me a million of surprises
When light’s gravity drags me down
your darkness shines oh it whines
in all agreeableness to reach
my secret galaxy called Misery

Dear Despair,
The scent of your cologne emulates
temperance dipped in the depth
of Mermaids’ Lagoon in Neverland
You are a body of water so serene
Drown me in your tacit embrace

Dear Sorrow,
Why am I not saddened? Maddened
yet healing as childhood rumination
I need you more than you need me
That I see, but you? In the wavelength
of your frequency what cure is there?

Dear Lie,
I shall not listen; I shall believe
in your charity of miles detaching
proximity there occurs adulation
After two thousand decadent years
have you overlooked: Honesty is sin

Dear Lullaby,
Will you reprieve my death penalty?
Will sleepless discomfort bid farewell
perhaps tomorrow or the morn after?
I shall discover a snippet of solicitude
safely delivered by your averse stork

Dear Autumn,
Shower me in your blazing blizzard
for it is the warmest sanctuary felt
in a lifetime of Loneliness that lurks
As solstice visits with a band of evil
I shall run and never succumb

Dear Sparrow,
If music is the heart of your entity
why will you not sing for me to me?
I cannot comprehend thus I pry
to trace your ghostly shadow:
a song of perfection that is envy

Dear Perseverance,
You are made of the hardest steel
I am a lump of rubber bendable
yet bounce shall I unassailable
One is of the thinnest paper, still
all written in capitalized confusion

Dear Discrepancy,
Did you hatch from the egg of enigma
that each step you take shrieks irony
each note you record speaks tragedy?
You are off-key; you are melancholy
It is starless in Misery: Reach for me

Dear Love,
Today I weep in cadmium in trickles
of forgiveness I stare into my mirror
and recite the taste of your name
I cannot break you cannot erase:
toujours, toujours, toujours

Thursday, September 9, 2010, 11:21 AM – 4:59 PM
*A response to Steven’s poem/lyrics “Unrequited”.

Bad Imitation

Good alchemist,

Praises are for Pulitzer winners
I am neither a siren nor a poet
but a bad imitation of every name

Perhaps it is best to conclude that I
am the keeper of memories: yours,
theirs, everyone else’s, and mine

What I wrote you is the fruit of
your generosity that strengthens me
a bite of knowledge that saves me
from falling into Death’s trap

The tales you tell me rewrite themselves
I know none; I know little

But this I testify:
The swiftness of your genius
puts Terror to shame
What’s this?
The alchemist trying a new game?

Brewing a formula of poetry
when mare mars his midnight
speaks he in metered delicacy

Misplay — dismay —
When will wonders cease, I say!

September 9, 2010, 9:09 PM


I know not of December;
I know not of Time
Live I in the Underground,
away from your humankind
Neither wish I to coax you
nor to make you mine
I am content with myself;
all I beseech is my rhyme

Tuesday, September 14, 2010, 3:16 PM


I would rather waste a whole day
staring into your blue-blue eyes,
watching how they shift from dark to light.
At the end of the day
when I became tired of the blinding blue,
you would let me sleep in your arms,
the way you always wanted to.

And I love you I love you I loved you.

Yet, Love was too haughty to stay.
Love leaves as it may.

Friday, October 15, 2010, 12:12 AM

Sentiment Soup (Please Add Sugar)

They told me to find God
in this absence
of communication
Jealousy whispers:
They have it all too easy
but not you

Spirit lamp, o’ spirit lamp,
where did your twinkle glow?
People disappear; it’s all I know
Initiate, and malinger
Do they know how it feels?
Do they even feel?
Only you, and you,
are the action to my reaction

Chastity, my dear Chastity,
where have you gone?
It was Tuesday that magical day
in six nights and you went away
Tell Trust I miss her, too
They rub me off
I never be
but another case
of paranoid imaginations

Let me engross you
in perpetual boredom,
shall I
When talking is pain
what is there to do?
Attack — counterattack
Serve logic to hurt
Words shock
Inhuman capacities surface

Flashlight flashlight
thunder light torch
Downpour downpour
sunshine and scorch

Sadness strikes
I want to run — somewhere
pain does not exist — where?
I cannot feel anymore
So red so accumulated
yet forbidden
Rely on myself for no one
is reliable — justify me

To a seashell:
Twenty-nine years,
nine months, fifteen days,
I live
Without words,
what is the use of a name?
I am in love with words
They keep me alive
and lit moonlight in my dark,
darkest day
People give up
Words will never betray

Erasure is
a middle child’s fate
People are precious
people are mute
And I miss my Moon
Except —
Moon escaped
to another town;
she left me to bleed
With broken wings,
I know not how to fly
but cede

Saturday, December 19, 2009, 1:06 AM –
Monday, October 18, 2010, 7:19 AM

Nondescript Infatuation

Everyone loves you
Paralyzed — I cannot compete

Gray divination in thunderous afternoon
Predatory winds assault velvety leaves
dangling from the heavens to these
hackneyed lines of
clichéd melodrama

But who are you to command
my heart

Listen, I am waiting for the nighttime
Tonight as the stars chatter
and seduce me to fly
I shall kiss them one by one
pretending you were here

Quit salvaging me from the demons
of heartache and betrayal

For once let me die oh let me suffer
alone, without your computer generated
rhythm guitar drilling twenty holes
into my long term memory
Whose voice do I chant?

These tears bland as self-denial
are my only savior

Please let me relish them and let me
disappear without your misty valium
eyes frequenting my insomniac
days of desperation
inside a movie theater

With romanticized medication I started
Who stole it from me?

When joy assists you, wear my smile
In times of sorrow, drink my pain
You offered me cups of sanity
a little too many but precise
to glue myself together

Civilized, composed, not a trace of
the telltale saint

Never too selfless to sacrifice sleep
transforming angst into halcyon
hours, but no, never divine
And who are you
to falsify my perception

Should I adore you in the wisdom
of a blissful child

in a histrionic fairground, contest me
Contradict every piece of evidence
watchfully observed in months:
You lent me your strength
and today I live

Who will not prize you for all you are
Everyone loves you

Looking on the other side of the mirror
Have I not full authority to govern
my thoughts my temperament
In tamed desires, my sail
points to one direction

Your wings, so dark they glitter
Break them for me — BREAK THEM

Goodbye, sparrow

Tuesday, October 19, 2010, 4:27 – 9:56 PM

Arbitrary Love That Tastes like Acid

The front door is unlocked
One by one they leave
The way they always did

Childhood taught me to hate
Seven days and six nights
I starved myself trying
too hard to embrace Peace
As I aged I grew bitter

Promises on Monday
Excuses on Tuesday
Abandonment on
By the end of the week
Hope erased itself

Father, take this bottle,
and here is a glass
throw each onto my body
let them brutally cut me

Mother, these are your lips
banish me sweetly
from the floor
that is your house

with these manly hands
hit me twice on the head
smash my stomach fast
as your God’s orders

Mine were hidden away
from their fortuitous sins
I am but an infidel
Evil is all in me

Please, it is seven
in the morning
Keep the warfare noise
down for I am in the mood
of buying a dream

Could you kindly
crash our appliances
some other time
Beg thunders
to deafen my ears
I wish not to hear

But can a middle child
plead when the state of
her birth was a blurry
shadow, one that escaped

Barricaded window opens
to an unyielding staircase
with handrails peeled off
hinting frosty courtesy
Black is all I see

The front door is unlocked
I am waiting for Death

Wednesday, October 20, 2010, 8:27 – 11:29 PM

Imperfection Confides

The heat runs amok before rain dances
Drenching hot I have to turn off the light
Jakarta’s sky rumbles grumbles rage
in a jingle I have been hearing for nights

Where is yours

Is it possible to envelope a smile; send it
by air mail. Your name pangs my psyche
(the screen radio in movies and dreams)
mocking me for falling as if I could elude

You are electric

A million of things I long to say evaporate
because expectation is unthinkable and
feelings are imaginary. Finally the water
washes away flimsy whimsy beginnings

I am afraid

to fail Life’s cumbersome test: liberate
Within, three-day paradox burdens —
trembling to grip the courage alongside
sunlit revelation. Gratitude is my gift

I seek not

My bound has come; I shall renounce
the last soul unspoiled — obliterate
like everyone does. Will you deposit
a slice of smile you never showed, for

I am imperfect

wishing I were someone you treasured
from another century. Time has been
cruel, as it always is, but can one defy
When all I have is chance and respect

will you apprehend
It is still lonely in Misery so I struggle
to find your implicit truth strangling me
All you give is but empathy: the illusory
warmth I must circumvent. Unnoticed,

I am a scream

Thursday, October 21, 2010, 3:15 PM –
Friday, October 22, 2010, 3:05 PM

Little Marionette

As I woke, I forgot to breathe
There was none but the chill of the dawn
Silence sang in a melody of a ceiling fan
I wanted to sleep forever, erasing the mind
But what could a little marionette do
as Fate inscribed her to start at five and
mystical strings pulled her limbs to stir
So I woke up at five, forgetting to breathe

My sparrows were twenty minutes late
The rooster won: blasting daybreak
with his uncharted cock-a-doodle-doo
I wondered if sparrows intentionally
roused late on a Saturday morning
rebelling against Fate that lit the city
at five as the Sun painted the sky turning
black to purple to pink to blue to white

Murderous red ants investigated my body
stinging the flesh. They must have thought
I was a corpse for lying motionless too still
without the pulse that makes us human
The flame of your fusion would ignite
my frozen skin, perhaps, had you feelings
stored somewhere within your infernal
armor where Love was unspeakable

Drizzle drummed and the day drafted
the trite of my chores as the mourning
poet who wished she had been a
sorceress wily enough to swish a wand
animating indistinct magic — while
a poet’s tongue only spoke bad poetry
the second she greeted Universe in envy
It was the life I knew: I breathed to hate

And what could a little marionette do
when Fate nimbly created her without
a heart

Saturday, October 23, 2010, 6:01 – 10:41 AM

Cupid’s Flaw

Your taste: viral, feral
hotter than the Sun glow creeping through the windowpane
scorching my brain cells, bruising dreams, canceling slumber
ringing and repeating itself like some grisly broken record

Blessed that you are
Thank Lady Fortune for you are distanced by mileage, oceans
from the venom that is my words and my words alone will turn
your pale pallid cheeks rouge — too toxic to tolerate — spurn

Morning: insufferable
with a word chasing a sentence airing a rumor that starts and
ends with you — on and on it goes like a riot — the stronger
I shield the madder the flood (but surely I have been delirious)

O’ woe spare my sanity
for I am drinking lithesome rain to mend this fever inside me
Mercurial are emotions, by all means disadvantageous. It was
erroneous to tell — so stand as you choose; I shall experiment

My fault: inexcusable
rejecting an offer and consoling the self with unreality — things
like love — unreal as you are (I am burnt). A thought of fetching
an empty box with one hundred and eighty two kisses to send;

a poem of sixteen lines
each starts with one letter of your names will be exceedingly
conspicuous for the untrained eyes — perhaps another day
once my passion is not half-baked (and yours, yours is none!)

Hope: hallucinogenic
First clock stopped at seven, the other eight; halve my paper
heart at two. Pray to your pagan Moon, just once pray loud
like you truly intend it — pray Cupid had missed his shot

Sunday, October 24, 2010, 11:02 AM – 6:28 PM

My Lover the Sun

I missed my lover the Sun
bathing me in his painful rays
one delicately-dry afternoon

To the front yard I paused
light breezy chill surrounded
the scent of morning flirted

So I went to the roof
to meet my lover the Sun

Barefoot, treading stair
after cemented stair,
uneven crumpled texture
of rain stain and mossy
grains — the years
I cannot recall educating
us in crumbs of hostility

A dead paintbrush lied
alone, unburied, left to rot
seemingly as old as I
Sufferings of negligence
played a movie inside
my head: of childhood
and flashes of the future
But refrain me from
pessimistic tendencies

Two blocks east, men
hammering yammering
sculpting a second story
like angry little engineers
assembling Lego blocks

Other houses ignored me
Rows of orange slates
conspired to seal their
ebony lips — falling into
a deep sleep while their
owners were at work

And there it was, above
my lover the Sun I loved
blinding my mortal eyes
Seasick with light, I
extended to reach his
height — but, he ran
far up behind the clouds

All I had was the scentless
ashen air with two yellowish
butterflies flying hand in
hand — sweats seeped down
my spine — As I watched
the clock struck nine I dreamt
an arboreal fantasy for
my lover the Sun did not
miss me

Thursday, October 21, 2010, 8:54 AM –
Monday, October 25, 2010, 7:37 PM

Misguided Intricacy

Inside a vacant bus,
I study my silhouette in the glassy
window across me: a mirror
uncovering shadows
of subconsciousness, of things
I cannot dissuade
Things that would never be

In the end everyone disagrees
as much as you do —
misperceptions in times of
proficient tedium
And how am I supposed to
attempt temperance
when all the books are replete
with circumlocutions that
pilot to your florid fame
What of your convoluted
alacrity, must I decry?

sparse fluffy whiteness
fading the blue that used to
frighten — today I
am not afraid. Indeed,
the voice has shrunk
Its servility evasive
Its melody repulsive
I plot it all to quote you

Let me dream, will you
let me dream. . .
What distraction is there
when life sells nothing in store?
But milk and chocolate
that cream my tongue
Bitterness of erudite water
that inspires darkness
What is this Hell of
not knowing where you are?

Exacerbate, for I know
None of it laudatory
Never shall I matter
In the end, the only word
I fear chains true

Let the Siren sing her song

I miss you times three:
one for the tears
one for the lies
one for the bad dreams
that rain through the skies

Friday, October 29, 2010, 6:35 PM –
Saturday, October 30, 2010, 2:24 PM

Alluding in Cowardice

At thirty,
I never tasted love
My heart had been dented
the day I saw the light

I memorized to accept
all incongruity had to offer:
People vary from morn to night

I spoke of negativity
only in objectivity, lacking
intention to see the bright side

I mirrored depression
for I read depressing voices
in the midst of petty exuberance

I asked for no more than
what I owned; contentment
was the song of ambition

I breathed the life of a nun
Revering chastity; practicing
modesty; disbelieving God

I sounded raw as a child
Missing what humanity
regulated; blind of its norms

I lived a windowless world
Mindless of the atmosphere beyond
— trapped inside a maze

I bored the Universe
irenically, but still, antagonism
persisted in times of danger

I passed my days lonesome
Muttering voices in my head
for every friendship expired itself

I lost the force
to be myself, pushing harder to
reach somewhere I would not be

I disappeared into
a neon light waiting to burst
for as low as ten megawatts

I woke up with the
healthiest complexion, the
brightest smile, painted for poetry

Yet, I could not decide
whether to call myself a love-drunk
poet, or the one in mourning

I learned and learned and
learned incessantly: failing to grasp
anything of adequate tincture

All things I knew were
volatile, transient, and I was
wingless I could not move forward

I understood that
nothing counted but one
however timorous the subject was

I aimed for derelict delight
oblivious to what it was
A thing to keep me alive

I sleepwalked underwater
minus the glass slippers because
desires were unfulfilled tales

I searched for more words
regardless of their meanings:
blatantly superficial, most trivial

I worried not but
for ludicrous things unwilling to be
defined in hieroglyphic epistles

I spelled clandestinely, either
to extract higher consciousness
or for the deficit of it

Would I elicit sense?
When sense and I were unrequited
Useless each confronting the other

There, I conquered
alluding in cowardice simply to
atomize the nefarious capsule

A series of bad omen
was secondary when I rebuffed
the seriousness of the news

I joked of literary lizards
seeing my ego as one of that ilk
inauspiciously deteriorating in time

The part of my brain where
emotions originated suffered from
necrosis for I could not compensate

Pain edified me more
than luck could ever console
Treachery was the kindest teacher

I killed all babyish hopes
shredded every dream, saving
one incruental wish

At thirty,
I wanted to die

Thursday, October 28, 2010, 8:13 AM –
Sunday, October 31, 2010, 7:46 PM


It has been three
When do you plan
to leave
my dreams —
tonight (please),
next week perhaps?
This is not

First, I
went to school
hoping you
would be there
I wished
to talk
to you
like I always do
And I searched
and searched
and secretly
but you decided
not to be there

Then, visions
of your
face flickered
like some faint
fractions of fiction
fading into
the background
(I told you to
Curtain closed
I was alone
like I will always be

Last night, I
chopping it
into hourly
episodic dreams
to steal my
(Now guess,
kindly take
your wildest
What name
did I
wake up to?

I need to buy
a remedy

This lump
my chest
(what is it?!)
warms itself
crueler than
of Celcius
that toast
this blasted
tropical town

Where must
I find
a therapy?
is not

Friday, November 5, 2010, 4:53 PM


Who was it? One that loved unconditionally
Pocketing her infant print to comfort him
Love that tremendous she had to conform
But never will I be exceptionally lucky

So fast it is ending (or is it)
Not as demanding as before, still imposing
only momentarily. Mendaciousness of the
heart that has shrunk day after day it deceits

Two nights ago it affirmed
Without the agility of mind and fingers
to cage, there is no history to reenact
Without documentation, it slowly dies

Everything dies when it is time
(Why must I covet to resonate his song
This is not the course I willfully take!)
Wrongfully incisive I steal and confess

Things stagnate for one as inexperienced
As Life builds nothing but sustainment
I am free with too much time to be
another — pretending to care

The weakness is wanted, I know. But
it is not mine. Uncertainty is. How
the circus fluctuates one can never
tell: now a clown, tomorrow woe

Sunday, November 7, 2010, 3:12 – 4:15 PM


The frankest and freest product of the human mind and heart is a love letter; the writer gets his limitless freedom of statement and expression from his sense that no stranger is going to see what he is writing.
— Mark Twain

Dear cognizant stranger,

It is I:
one that has no right
to long for you.

Again it has started,
and I cannot subjugate.
The screen shields.

I look up and up,
when it registers
like volcanic eruptions

to the sight of a scene,
the mention of a word,
the frailty of a woman.

Every day I begin
merrily, and it starts,
when no one sees

and I try not to see.
Everyone feels fine,
but none matters.

This is where
I envision a bridge.
Can a death wish

be the theme
of a love letter?
Were I the ether,

never you the ore.
With or without
God, Death lives.

What about your
list, will I ever tally?
No, and I cannot

save you or
your godly goal.
How can one only

sketch honesty when
one is unobserved?
I gave up a long time

ago. The riddle is
You shall have

what you desire.
I am trained to love
without requital.

It is the discipline
of my soul.
When every name

has the wholesome
gift to deem me

what deduction
follows but to

Of course, there
will always be
another, and

another, and many
different others.
For you.

The screen is mute.
Can you discern
what I am writing?

Sunday, November 7, 2010, 4:04 – 8:04 PM

Memory of an Old Town

Grungy green door
and wrecked windows
darkness blankets
the tunnel
Can you shelve
one little secret
from my past,
o’ Batavia,
of the love
I gave to the ocean
while cruising
to Sunda Kelapa and
heavenly trance of
Queen from the East?

But the bard
comes back whining:
Tarnished metals,
delayed destructions,
can you preserve
this dungeon
pending a century
The surge, the soil
of these swamps
you harvested from
my discarded tears
Indeed, I am left
alone locked and
wilt in loneliness
Do Menteng and
Nieuw Gondangdia,
or even Bogor —
which were built
by Eduard Cuypers
and his successive
engineers — not think
that they owe me,
the petty criminal,
merely because
I am in love
with their wives?

November 11, 2010, 12:49 AM
*An unfaithful translation of Fahri Salam’s untitled poem posted as his photo captions.

Day of Rebellion

To you, why am I a liar?
Always a pretender: because
you channel no mechanism
to cope with a terse refusal
Things must suit your royal decree
and mismatched colors shall be
repainted to stage your partial
reality where I play the part
of a submissive doll — a slave;
her utterance voices none
but affirmative answers

Today, dear Sire,
I am no longer your subject
In case you misplace my quieted
resignation letter forty-four days
ago, consider this a second
verification in its politest possible
fashion of the shortest
No, I am not interested
No, I desire not to engage you
No, I will not let you caress me
No, I wish not to have your sex
No, I want not to have your baby
No, I am not in love with you
How many more lines of
negation need I enumerate to
make your unseeing eyes see?

And your words are unfilled
without proof; zeroed actions
What do I hear, but improbability?
The plans you kept without
execution, they rendered me
a disbeliever. The parody you
title “Love” alters with an
invitation from a substitute
Still you dare accusing me
a liar?

What person is a person when
all he does aims to violate
another’s liberty? I am no more
your possession nor will I be
there to catch your fall
Let me go let me go let me go
for the present bears a name
haunting me from dream to
dream: It is not yours

Wednesday, November 24, 2010, 8:05 PM –
Friday, November 26, 2010, 3:29 AM


December is here
Soon the year ends and
matters are left behind
I have no recollection
of 2010: another turn
of the wasted curse

Several mornings ago, I
woke up with a
the mark of a writer

Words beckoned me
to start my day
with flows of phrases
so seductive I wanted
to swallow them

I was happiest
at days like that,
when nothing else
but the energy
of the tempting Muse

No one loves me
but the Muse

And the Muse is shy;
the Muse is evanescent
Alluring as he may,
seldom he stays longer
than half an hour —
always in the morning

The moment I was
half-awake, trying to
reconnect with reality,
he enticed me to write
It was the coldest point;
my body was too weak
to think

I could not do
as he told and so
he went, somewhere
my powerless being
would never encompass

Without the Muse,
I wake up with
a Nightmare

Nightmares test me
to exert myself
I forever failed:
competition against Time
accusation to refute
I was there to blame

At times, I met you
One that was
too beautiful, I only knew
to plead. Please stay,
implored I

But like the Muse,
you went
to escape to a place
I would never go

Thus, we met
wholly in Nightmares,
for Nightmares are
the embodiment
of unfulfilled longings
I do not fit your frame

So, I can only smile
In my waking hours,
cognizing this, I smile
The mind has its own
way to rationalize

It was odd
out of character
I have none to prove
no solid justification
to validate

No one believed me

Discount everything else
I said with no intention
to influence
I said it once and
it would be the last
Believe me when I said
I loved you

Thursday, December 2, 2010, 5:21 – 6:44 PM

Once upon a Night

Indeed, he should

Masters of Alchemy bind greater powers
In comparison, Wizards are nullified
Sirens pine for marine passion will glower
Soliloquies sung, yet charm denied

Years of cold sorrow may vanish
One day the Tin Man shall garnish
Upon a platinum heart so tarnished

(thgirb ot mid ,thgin llit nrom morF)

December 7, 2010, 2:28 AM

The Bet

I have befitted one who smokes two packs a day
Even you shall witness me puffing a cigarette
whilst strolling, or resting on a station bench
fumes smoldering from my lips
slaying time

It is but death that suppresses my heart and
shall stop my breath this very instant
In truth, cold sweats exude and ooze
drenching the pores of my palms and heels

It keeps flaring and now often I wash it away
with teardrops from the pool of sorrow
amidst these never-ending journeys

A casket may have been waiting
for me somewhere, but one fact remains:
life is a tardy process of belated death

Today I resemble one who bets with December
till January enlightens me as a new soul
in an episode of a new year
Might it be too late
for one who has been dying
at the end of November

— a food stall in Jogja Monument, December 13, 2010

Tuesday, December 21, 2010, 8:48 PM –
Wednesday, December 22, 2010, 4:40 AM
*An almost faithful translation of Fahri Salam’s poem “Pertaruhan”.

As If

As if
silence made the heart grow fonder
Why must you make me suffer?

At times I prolong my waking hours
For sleep is nothing but a nightmare
a place where I mean things I should not
To raise power, I prolong my waking hours

As if
I would wait for you forever
Is it not a case of coveting suicide?

What is not given shall never be
A sinking mind wanders adrift, alone
Almost rabid, I — catch the message
under the sky, covert but there to see

As if
words beat and they struck to tame
Are they not a thing of fancy
of dreaming carelessly?

This digitally masochistic tendency
is metonymic to casualty
Afflicting the flesh of infallible terrors
as they gather shots of ubiquitous frippery

As if
insomnia had control over me
Why must I force myself to endure?

Needless the world of a cynic
Not even one who medicates herself with
quasi-wickedness, or bulk of false romance
for feelings lost are never regained

Tuesday, December 21, 2010, 9:22 PM –
Sunday, December 26, 2010, 1:47 AM

The Dead

I shall not make any sense
I am not myself
but a promise of a deadline
I am waiting for the rain
to carry me away — today
in a house where ghouls cry
like a child
whose body split in two
Today, I shall not think of you
But to converse,
with a heart so blackened
it mauls no answer
Today, I shall not speak of you

Monday, January 3, 2011, 10:52 AM – 6:34 PM

To the Sea

To the Sea, to the Sea
To a place where Sirens sing
To a dream where Mermaids cling
Foamy clouds of green glisten —
unraveling secrets, inviting dangers
Thus went Steven:
the boy whose coffin was the Sea

People are who they settle to be
Be thankful, that lives tangle
one another, still
Be joyful; emotions are here
for us to feel
And yet, be weary
for Gloom is your most powerful
skill — have you not perceived?

Of so many lives that tangle mine
I am all gratitude —
one of them is yours

Some try to move the Sun
Some others (like I)
are content
to watch the Earth go by
None are the victims
When everyone abides
by his own rule
and her own tale,
who should be left to entitle
Innocence —

Should Mars be your home,
then it shall be
Should Rocks be your friends,
then they shall be
When you reach somewhere
my human eyes fail to see
I will be here, catching
your tiny drops of Mars
wishing you are well

And what if — what if
the Sea were your eyes?
Would that grant me the right
to tinker with words
and vial them each day
to be carried afloat
by the Waves to your eyes?

Be patient,
for my rhymes they go
verily slow
As for today, might I ask,
dear fiery Waves,
which way does a Phoenix fly?

(To the Sea, to the Sea)

Monday, January 10, 2011, 3:03 PM –
Tuesday, January 11, 2011, 8:49 PM

In Silphium a Voice

What bathes my filth
is warmth — leisurely,
it begins to pour
And tenderly it swings to
contentment of the rose
that befouls my locks
Milking tangerine juice
that feeds my body
As I cup my left breast
daydreaming dirt

No, I care not
Unheal these wounds
But I must; I must
Use you once again,
if not the last
Divine, is it not?
My finale you are
For you, darling,
paused my breath
Yes, you
stole my voice

To which crime do you confess?

Mine shall be
protracting the noon after
Hoisting myself one heel
taller, hands clenching
These square marbles
blue of profanity
The weight of your soul:
light as lies; true as tales

Again, I caught you
Your one-sided tragedy
buried in a jug of sugar
Pain me the way I must
have wronged you so
that words are forbidden
What unspeakable deeds
have I done?

And it ends assuredly, like
everything else: It stops
where I gather
silphium seeds my voice
It must end with a kiss
but never your heart

Friday, February 11, 2011, 7:48 PM – 10:51 PM

Sniffing Stars

Dear Lake:

When you dream,
envision a blizzard
mistier than my tainted heart
Will you?

Unlike yours, my days
are death-infested
soothing as poetry
But never as noxious

How was Suicide?
I long to know if it
feels like falling in love or
one hundred years of slumber

Will I kindle in another
dream? Or will I evaporate
into a forgotten name
— like ripples of water?

Faces peek and pass
What youth promises
is unequal to forthcoming
derelict disenchantment

Time shall acidify
Only lonely to the point
of Extinction
is where I reside

In a city of urbanized
poverty: Lives are cheaper
than a bag of peanuts
Rivers harvest corpses

While at night I
cull the scent of Stars
from a cubit of misdemeanor
— deprived of any sense

Sink I into a world
of monochromatic untruth
Bid some surly fairy
to come with me

Such Disgrace is mine,
all mine — for a lesson
semiprecious is best learnt
from a crescent Moon:

Death is far
and Hope is farther
Breezes soothe
but Sorrow is smarter

Sunday, February 6, 2011, 9:48 PM –
Saturday, February 12, 2011, 3:22 AM

Once upon a Rumination

Drops —
they make me think,
even as I am too sluggish to function.
I curse the obligation to wake
and be a part of the commotion
— this is not who I am.
Where are the mornings of bubbly unhappiness?
A time of being myself
without money bidding me to go.
And here I am, sitting, wasting my time
with something I am not compelled to do.
Fabricated sentiments wind the clock of survival.
What about wasting two years and seven months
for one who replaced me with another?
Replaceable is the Fate of my life.
My expiration date spans for only two years,
always those two short years.
It is unnatural that I wanted to see you, too.
Did you want to see me so much that you had to go?
I wish I were somewhere else, there, where you are.
But the essence of you is what keeps me going.
For there is only one irreplaceable you.

Monday, February 28, 2011, 7:35 – 10:50 AM

A Dysfunctional Heart

Darling engineer,
were you humane enough
to restore my rhyme
to where it belongs?
The afternoon woke me
in intolerable heat
So blinding it stopped
the last beating of
my dysfunctional heart
As my night begins to end,
you must know that
no one misses you today
no one
Ask Tomorrow
for she might bring better news
But what if…
Tomorrow never comes?
Sing me my lullaby
the way you said you would
Revive a dysfunctional heart
in any way you could

#5: Saturday, April 23, 2011, 7:52 PM

The Feel of Your Name on My Lips

Shadows, Shadows, come out to play —
To the Sea, to the Sycamore tree, and away
Everlasting Emptiness is the name of the game
Vicinities shift over years, yet none to blame
Eastern wind hides the Sun and sinks the Moon
Nigh is the end of us; the end shall come soon
Effulgent tunes of a piano so softly explode
Redolent of mirth, of high spirits hollowed
Innocuous remarks lacking meaning or truth
Kaleidoscopically changing, patterns to soothe
Mint sentiments guarding the friendship
Orbital communication seasoned with quips
Racing with Time, not knowing where to be
Riddles and rhymes, too proud to stage simplicity
In regards of things deserted, discarded, untrue
Say how many nights I pictured myself kissing you?

#7: Monday, April 25, 2011, 6:28 AM
Stolen title: Victoria Shaw, Chuck Cannon

Lemon-Scented Midnight

The same room
The same sorrow
The same fatalist
waiting for sparrows

Good morrow, Sorrow
Why did you not forget?
You come back all well
and overpowering

But tonight,
tonight I plan to rebel
Here, let me re-insert
your heart all intact

(How does your hair smell?)

Of disdain
is the scent I wear
A demonstration
males are readily
beguiled by sex

Why do you anguish
for hearing my voice
when speaking to her?

I was born friendless
and friendless shall I be
Loneliness makes a faithful
companion, nevertheless

Have I pronounced
my Negativity strongly enough
that I deserve to be defamed?

It was my entire fault
Never, never yours

Begone, Sorrow —
Today I am waiting for sparrows

Monday, November 15, 2010, 12:20 AM –
Thursday, April 28, 2011, 2:25 AM

These Immortal Lies

Your imagery:
inarticulate at days
disruptive at nights
What am I to do?
But to cleanse myself
of you

Prevent me from pouring
more sugary words
into your pretty eyes
These are all lies!

immortal lies
Your pretty eyes —
they thirst, do they not?

What are you to do?
But to bathe yourself
in these immortal lies
For words are all you get
out of Life
And whispers are all I get
out of you

Stop me shut me shun me
Save me —

Your eyes
are the prettiest lies
to me

#8: Thursday, April 28, 2011, 2:07 PM

Violent Inkling

Never surrender Lust
under my reign, love
For there be Violence

Those cowardly glances,
as I recall, were stamped
with your name
Tell me, how do you
misspell Shame?

Ungrateful soul,
I am not through with you
Lay your hand, yes, here
Mine, there

The weight of your
manly embrace
pressing my frame
Gently heat dissipates

Your left cheek, bruised
Lips, shattered
Sipping your stoicism
at the length of
your throat — blood, shed
of your forlorn shoulder

My unsullied flesh beneath
your querulous longing
bursts in Sin
Do it, I beg: Impair me

Shade and light —
they marvel in blight
Screams after
sensuous screams
Desolation dreams

#9: Thursday, April 28, 2011, 5:28 PM


It is never about you, love
My liking is the only aim:
medicant to my Madness
Selfishness is what I do best

There are days I wish
to be rid of you
Wednesday was such

Could you please
let me motivate my morn
and relish the pleasantry
without yearning for
your spongy remorse?

There are months
I wish to murder you
November was such

Please, bring it to an end
This is growing obscene
The book of poetry I was studying
How did it elicit your name?

O’ merciful gods and goddesses
of the ancient realm
strip me off of curiosity
Would you silently wipe out
each trace of your fame?

In all truth, I confess
to using you
Never to idolize, to
lure, nor to woo
But simply because
I want to

#10: Thursday, April 28, 2011, 9:31 PM

Finding My 4 AM Moon

Half of my world is ending
A quarter of it thinks of you
The last quarter cannot counsel
whether it would be wise
to climb up to the rooftop
and tell each acrylic blue star
how I miss you so

When night comes
as you mount on top of your car
ask the stars, one by one,
if I left you a message
some time ago, some
twelve hours of your morrow

From afar, I hear
my sparrows waking the Sun
Arabic lines recited from
a mosque, as the believers pray
for a better day to arise
chanting to an invisible God
This town, asleep

Blanketed in the 4 AM chill
I am waiting for my Sun
When the day breaks
in a short animated film
of indigo violet magenta
orange yellow blue, I
will send an enveloped hug
— the Sun my messenger

As morning light warms
sip a drop of Sun into you
(tell him you miss me, too)

Return I to my ancient room
where proscribed love letters
emerge in dreams, only
in dreams — while I
press the flatness of my
computer screen
catching the beating
of your loneliest heart

(Good morning, Sorrow —)
#14: Monday, May 9, 2011, 4:59 AM

Sing Me a Song of Sleep

I have come to you
Everyone else’s Moon
is made of honey
Mine is made of blood

I have come to you
in unison
These walls we build
mound higher and up
defending reserve

I have come to you
in kindness
May I sell all this reticence
in exchange for
crumbs of communication?

I have come to you
in revelation
All the while I have been
waiting for Death
since Love will never come

sing me a song of sleep
for I have come
to you

Thursday, May 5, 2011, 5:15 AM –
Saturday, June 4, 2011, 12:50 AM

when everything is wrong

my heart explodes
pining for death
as my head calls
your name
like a counterspell
hoping for its echo
to restrengthen
my eyes and
their automated tears
wet my questioning
face that curses
the prettified words
of metallic blue
my soul they empty

funny we speak
unpunctuated verses
the world should envy
how your words
remedy and rewind
the rusty key
on the back of this
were i made of steel
would i be unbreakable

they should wear
your green eyes
and see through
your reading glasses
somehow they would
understand and
my monday sparrows
would sing
your incidental piano
the winds hush
your american voice
saying i would be
all right again
when everything is
you will be right

usher me death
into my head
patching up
the pieces of
my heart

Monday, June 20, 2011, 6:20 AM
A reply to Steven’s email, as well as the origin of “The Fix”.

False Hearts

First came Lewdness
It fashions sex, coquetry,
and all that glitters
I am insufficient beauty
Thus I went astray

Then came Magic
It obliges similitude
With my discrepancy,
I sell not enough worth
Magic befitted illusion

Thus I stop
auditioning for Love
My character shall
never fit the part
for I am nobody’s baby

Thursday, June 23, 2011, 6:27 AM

A Question, an Alibi

This is Anger speaking

Never shall I be of importance
to you, and I never was
Apperception, too sore
Avoid, hide, romanticize

Now it surfaces; it queries
It calls: Where are you?

Your sympathy: an obligation
a form of charity — I need it not
What do I desire? What is it?

The predicament you are incapable
of dispensing — certainly not
It vaporized, long, so long ago
Accession formed

There is no gain in seeing
when all you wish to see
is yourself — never I
am a part of you
Do I long to be?

A misprint to attribute
you were discrete
Most cavalier
scornful conclusion
minus ostensible proof

In two years, my expiration date
always came, as if stamped
on my forehead

Affirmation arrived
You are one of them
What is your alibi?

A question dislocates reason
We are unsettled, always shall be
Where did it go wrong?
Was I unbearable —
you had to go?

Disinterest forewarns
like a garden of peaches
mellowing under the sun

Sunday, June 19, 2011, 11:44 PM –
Saturday, July 2, 2011, 11:52 PM

inappropriate naming

all i want is to talk of you
but no one understands
no one listens
all i want is to write of you
but words cheat repeat
your name alone rewinds
in my head
like a bad dream
or a misused spell
whose magic diminishes
with time
make it go away
all i want is to talk to you
but even you
do not understand
something so obscure
we give it
inappropriate names
the pain spreads
upwards downwards
stinging the stomach
creeping slowly
to paralyze the muscles
in the left corner
of my neck
for seconds i know
the shock
of an electric eel
it always starts from
the heart
begs screams fights
insurgence of
a powerless body
i calm myself saying
this is unreal
it will disappear in time
i am inconstant for
you are
incapable of being
the fool that i am
you too will convince me
this is unreal
the minute i hold you
i will never let go
morn and night i pray
for that day to come
of all names i choose
a game to pass time

Monday, August 1, 2011, 5:31 PM

What Is It?

Neither Love that yearns
Nor Lust that burns
Never a kiss
Barely a touch
Not the longing
The sweet caressing
Or anything of such

Mine is simply knowing
Willfully wishing
(from afar, from afar)
For every turn taken
Every dream forsaken
Leads to a world of Heaven
Through pain
Amidst discontent
Your kind of Heaven

Relentless Jealousy
Stains not my thought
Spiteful Enmity
Smears not my aim
I am simply hoping
(from afar, from afar)
When you think of me
You grieve never
When you remember me
It salves for ever

Not once has it hurt
When I envision you

Without your lullabies
Drugging me to sleep
Mine is simply giving
Never exacting
A studious observer
(from afar, from afar)
Consenting your verdict

What choice do I have?

My lips: You stole not
My heart: It aches not
Neither here
Nor there, still
You are everywhere

Thursday, August 4, 2011, 2:10 PM

Day of Endless Dreaming

Night is calling. Midnight.
Murderous mosquitoes.
The stench of parched sweat.
Irresistible. Hunger. Arousal.
Starvation and reproduction.
Game of survival. Kill. Or.
Be killed. Twenty-seven degrees
of Celsius should fetch enough
Love for me to sleep. Never
to wake up. Death is forgotten;
worry not. Here come the days
of meaning. Less than
the meaning, halved in sound.
What used to be cherry-red
lips, now peeled into pain.
Stop. No. No. Compulsion
commands. Seeking voices,
stranger ones, to soothe
the meaning less than its sum.
A stainless document, so white
it punctures. Looking for
sounds. Frightening sounds.
Opening a door to a bottomless
Sea of Stars. Step and I fall.
Fall, fall, fall. Each planet stints
a love poem. You, you, you.
How many of you are there?
Not enough to catch my fall.
Words are a burden. Lies
shield. How convenient.
Life is convenient! Blight
exhausts more than running,
than forty-five minute walk
home in high heels. Shhhh.
Take a break. Quit singing
inside my head.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011, 10:14 PM

Unmitigated Ramblings

Good God, demigods,
lesser-known goddesses,
Holy Hell, hear my plea:
for I have sinned.
These virgin lips, locked,
dream of his. Safeguarded.
Fortified. Open to erode,
reaching, leisurely
moistening the lower flesh.
Tasting. Nibbling. Ravaging
his disinclined soul, making
it mine. All mine. I, a soul-
eater better than the Devil.
Eyes shut. Furor untrained.
Sex is overrated,
so is love, life, happiness.
One experimental stimulus
spurs a series of untamed
sins of two innocent sinners.
Misdemeanors of hearts.
Too shy for transgressions;
too eager for indulgences.
There shall be abuse. Force,
if need be. When fine
is the synonym to Loneliness,
certainly, everything is fine.
And here I lie, wishing
for a friend. One that stays.
Transporting Midnight
into a million Suns. Bright
fogs of purplish dark, black
as a heart blackened
with Hatred. Mine. Stealing
another. Unbeknownst
to static luminary projections.
Perseids, the hearer of our
prayers, shower my night
with your light. My death
with your breath. O’ my
interstellar crimes. Invidious.
Ironic. Innate. So lewd,
it rhymes with filth.

Saturday, April 30, 2011, 11:10 AM –
Wednesday, August 10, 2011, 3:27 AM


Destiny. Destination. Delirium
of a delusional disaster.
Scrub. Scrub hard. Wipe away
all stain. Grime of your crime.
Are you not ashamed? How
many times did you thrust me
onto a wall? Twice, at least.
Of what I know. How many
that Lust awoke in you?
Imagined you were made of
subtlety. But I know. More
than twice. At least. Beware, I
smell appetence from another
continent. Distance dissuades.
Not I. The lover who ain’t been
hurt. Not I. The conveyor of
doubts. Setting. Plotting.
Closing doors. Just as it knocks,
it knocks again. No matter how
you pretend, it still knocks.
Tap tap tap like a choir,
it sings to you. At night. When
you hide. Morn, before you
scorn. Women and our
near-orgasmic showers. No
need to rub. Water does all
the job. Urging involuntary
screams from our oh-so-pretty
mouths. Our male-domination
erotica. Mhhmm. Strawberry-
delicious mouths. Shameless.
Inviting. How much more
do you need to hear?

Wednesday, August 10, 2011, 5:36 AM

Erratic Erotic Esoteric Error

Chop me a part of you,
for Life is unkind.
Miss me with a vengeance,
when I am gone. And you
have no words to speak
of me. Forgo, my darling.
You are tonic. You are trick.
You are dreamy as a brick.
I dream I dream I dream
to choke you tight with all
my might. With all the
physical parts of things.
I married Monday. Only
to find out he cheated
on me with Tuesday,
Wednesday, Thursday,
and the next three. So I
came to you. To feed on
sorrow, to bear what’s
mine. To greet the morrow,
when nights rewind.
We are but worms. Little
winged glow-worms wafting
from sundown to Infinity.
A funny thing called Fate.
Today I kiss you softly,
so gently. Like you always
wanted me to, my darling.
Do you remember the day
I told you I loved you?
The sky was half orange,
half blue —

Sunday, December 6, 2009 1:47 AM –
Wednesday, August 10, 2011, 3:38 PM

Frenetic Loneliness My Maze
— Gustira Pahlevi and Amel Anniza

It is when the Moon disappears
Does my love for you despair
For yours is nothing compared
To ours you devoured

O’ Moon, o’ Despair,
Blind my eyes and sink my soul
For ours is naught
Two hearts have long been gravely distraught

Sing me of frenetic loneliness!
Set ablaze in a fugue of desperation
Neither content nor heart alone triumph

Polyphonic climax brings not content
Ease loneliness never; two concubines
Doomed as we are — gone fray

In an endless vortex, love truce
Jubilant heart amuse; solitary seduce
Which path shall I enter, ally, we’re no longer

Mass of Fire, of Flame, whirls twirls unfurls
You, ally, I seduce not. Thus enter my Maze
Unfazed. Come, come, quick!

Commence, I dare not
Not even until Efreet imbues infernal ice
Let Shiva shivers. Thy allure shall not lure

Shame! Which valor becomes ice?
What cunning undoes vice?
No being shall ever defy the might of Light

From isolated soul that blights
My heart held no treason
Alas the Heaven’s light
My love for you sought no reason

Isolation drenches in disdain
Treason showers endless pain
Moon cowers atop the tower
My love surpasses all deific power

August 10, 2011, 2:11 PM – August 11, 2011, 4:52 AM

The Curse

Every new moon
the curse attacks
Culmination of hatred
of aging femininity
One that plagues
Untraceable allergy
scalp, face, to her back
prevents her from being human
Desires to attempt violence
to her own body
Chopping bones off their frame
A carnivorous beast
mutilates its powerless prey
Cravings to swallow fire whole
Red hot spices
A bowl of animalistic soup
intoxicates her
Lacking genius in her brain
Inability to reach the finish line
Deprived of sleep
three days and countless nights
A ravaging zombie
seeking to drink cerebral juice
Outraged: Wrathful is she
Her mind spews
pleading temporary insanity
Heat irks; cold numbs
Wishing to embrace
one that is unreachable
What will she do without him?
Heart wanes — exiting
into a stupendous abyss
where she cannot be found
Imagining the blaze in his touch
to calm her sufferings
Something nonexistent in time
Chemical imbalance reaches its
peak: at night, in the morning,
any time it likes
Stopping her from forming
formulating — mere confusion
breeding animosity
With a bruised body she wakes
Pain takes over her senses
Headache cheers
Cursing herself
for being a woman

Friday, February 27, 2009, 10:41 PM –
Friday, August 26, 2011, 2:52 AM

After-Rain Birds

Sparrows, sparrows, everywhere I see
These after-rain birds
singing right outside my window
A morning of impenetrable symphony

On a mango tree, one perches
Two in the sky dashing in harmony
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp
gossip they as cold invisible wind
encapsulating my skin

From the school, constantly they chatter
One alights atop a curved block of wood
waiting for the crown to grow
Cumulus mediocris clouds ooze
hiding the bigoted sun behind blue crystals

A pair speeds in the same direction
One comes by; two dance slowly
far behind adroitly impassioned buildings

One rushes to reach the mango tree
Another chases in competition, high so high
Soon it will reach the giant’s palace
Trees: mango, Jamaican cherry, rose apple

A flow of melody like a church choir
Right, left, every corner of my sky
Cold, cold, the cold of morning
The flame of Sun dissolves

My feet: wet, keenly sink into a puddle
Watching the swallow hovers above a tree
Tall branches, pink flowers of bougainvilleas
Dragonflies swimming in the open air
Weathered leaves rustle — somewhere

Sounds of water: fish pond
Two roosters, a hen
The scent of six o’clock morning

Being with you is the death of me
So lifeless, powerless, as if I had no bones
Toxic oxygen squelches the lungs
Anchored to the bottom of the ocean
so dark and lonely these lungs, full of water

Choked, choked to death
Death one after another
Daily death, hourly death
In less than ten hours the lunacy strikes
People are forgetful when they are sleepy

Two, three more afternoon birds, so loud
Euphonious, shouting conversations
Creamy butterflies wooing each other
Another one follows, a monarch, bluish
it seems — flee as I am gone
Orange juice sun: tang in icy hot weather

All my stories started at five

Sunday, December 27, 2009, 5:26 AM –
Friday, August 26, 2011, 9:40 AM

Dosage of Filth

She clenches his front shirt
Yanking him closer
Skin on skin
Her carnivorous mouth
His submissive lips
Ravenous of each other
Badly-lit room
Short, soundless breaths
Seeking instant gratification
Her womanly mass pressed
Onto his heaving chest
Tiptoeing to silence
His surprised enquiry
Consumed, consuming him
Her abusive kisses
A lifetime of desire saved
For him, only for him
A fast-paced tragedy
Her seduction quickens
Authorizing trickles of heat
To excite the lower chunk
Of his anatomy

And there we were

You, and your Freudian allusion
Of the little death
How many times must I kill you
With my bloodthirsty fangs?

Thursday, September 1, 2011, 10:56 AM – 12:02 PM
(Need I post this under the conspicuous category? Certainly.)


Her prey, seized
Against a cold marble wall
His mutinous expression
Shouting a silent no
Her inexperienced hand
Too willing to coax
Weakening his sex
One gentle stroke
And his body consents
The sin
A ploy he could resist
(But does he?)
Shame: red as blood
Gushing rushing blushing
His pale, pale cheeks
Her tongue taking a sip
Of his unguarded mouth
Gone as he reacts
Down to his neck
Cherry lips gently rouse
Moistening his flesh
His green eyes: lustful
Of her glistening skin
Bare under jets of water
The object of her desire
Surrendering his soul
To the Witch’s hex
Taking charge
Manly gestures devour
Her tainted substance
Corrupted; defiled
Screaming in painful plea
Midnight Moon hums
To their impurity
Witnessing something

Saturday, September 3, 2011, 3:20 – 4:32 AM

Hex, Unsolicited Sex

Blood is on the menu

Did I offend those
green mean eyes?
So young and pretty
So dissolute of the
tantalizing curves
of my body

What caprice do you
entertain when no one
is watching?

Confession, careless as it may
bears consequences
Some lighthearted: dreamy
Some dire: nightmarish
Or a mixture of the two
What say you?

Your alchemy, I beseech
Twice harder than
my insomniac bones
long for eight hours
of somnolent slumber
Your Gloom meets my Agony
and the two vibrate
sighing Melancholy

Listen to my vulgar mouth
and its forbidden L-word

The Witch and her hex
beguiling as beauty
My feral fantasy and its
unsolicited sex
To which did you aim?
This time, aim a little higher

Feed not the Poet
with your entreaties
Nor the suggestive
imagery you gladly disclose
There are consequences

I often wonder
if your heroic heart
tastes a little bit like

And here I am
inviting more Madness
to my tea party
Are you game, little sparrow?

Your blood is on the menu

Saturday, September 3, 2011, 7:40 – 9:28 AM

A God So Beautiful He Blinds an Entire Century

Black hair
Violet eyes
Sun-kissed cheeks
Lips dipped in honey
Arms that speak of aggression
Heart hungers for my love
And voice of the Sea
Hushing my lonely name
Mel —

September 13, 2011

Urban Superstition
— Jonathan Roberts and Amel Anniza

I, free from superstition,
     hurry through the streets
But the streets, howling urban legends,
     calmly capture my clarity
My mercurial clarity, true to its nature,
     yield to legend’s charm
Awoken, forsaken,
     a world of cunning and clamor abates
Running over with divergent, inscrutable fates
Beyond insecurities and doubts,
     lie the stars where mythical deities call for trouble —
what trouble is there for a mortal as mercurial as I?
Otherwhere trouble lurks; seeming patient as it must be
Thus I wander with Patience,
     from street to street, from star to star
A crossroad awaits; it matters not until its time
Time, the ever present, unchanging tune of travesty —
     will Time dance with me?
Or will the hours, unchanging, standing still,
     not deign to join my revelry?
Time, hours, revelry, and I —
     we are but elements of elegy, of secret matrimony
Our knowledge forbidden to all,
     lest our pastel union be brought to an end too lamentable
And the end is nigh; the rapture is high:
     where all growth becomes a story of sunken tragedy
The end is here. The gamboling seer says
     forsooth no more shall he foresee
Foreseeing the Devil’s own luck,
     I, true to my fate, capture catastrophe

Thursday. September 8, 2011. 8:57 PM –
Thursday. September 22, 2011. 11:40 PM
Self-serving editor: Amel Anniza.


Four hundred grams of Hate
inside her chest
Beats pulses burns
Hints coaxes cues:
Jump, love

Blood-red painted
across the asphalt
Abstract splatters
deluging dispersed

Winds toy with her hair
Sunlight whitens
A cloudless noon
Five minutes to twelve
She may be late

Rushing steps
in red sneakers
Jump, love

trucks buses cars
boasting illegal speed
A city so decivilized
with greed
Any minute now
Death comes closer

I love you most

Dust particles aggress
Inside her head
a bomb detonates
Falling into Eternity
She answers the voice
that loves her most


Mother father
picking up granular pieces
Four hundred grams
of her bloodstained heart
She was their darling child

Saturday, September 24, 2011, 11:32 AM – 1:02 PM
An allusion to Darren Hayes’s “Bloodstained Heart”.


All the while
I am not your friend

is a mask I wear
to decoy you:
Converge me

A play of synthetic smiles
Humor is accidental
mostly hyperbolical
To show affinity
with the majority

Did you think
I was happy?

Must you question
Cloud of darkness:
a show?
An act to distance myself
from reality
Darkness is reality
Do you not believe me?

Life is unkind
Crime after crime

Laughter is fiction
so is a smile
Tears are a friend
so is suicide
Hope is the theme
of a pop song

Full of oneself
everyone abandons
Selfish as I am
fail to see what I see
Troubles toughen

No, I am not your friend
Ask not of me

A heart closes
when it is time
Faithfully praying:

Death, come faster
One last kiss
on my left wrist

Saturday, September 24, 2011, 4:36 – 5:39 PM

acrostic anodyne

eastern stars electrify — betraying their sulking sun
lorn and lonesome — manifolding bereavement aforetime
emaciate. deracinate. we fling deathward. less than dust
contrite sinners shunning their tryst betwixt moonrise and paradise
twilit trilliums, three-petalled flowers, rising dangling apologetically
retrograde planets orb — tuning an audition of their shouting match
oversweetly, ever-ardently, we shunt the tacit; allege the audible
prolix propaganda: the conscience of my poetry, of this criminality
hearken its music; heed not its sylphlike cacophony
o’ darling darling, run! before the hunt has begun
efflorescent verbiage. supertemporal rhetoric. untrammeled
          steady whine
needed: you are not. yearned beyond years; treasured
          beyond tears
impulse of love — i, must must must need you not
x-ray the pathos of my dilapidated heart

September 27, 2011. 1:48 – 2:44 PM.
(For injuries never speak in a jocular tone to me.)

Simulation of Emotion

I love love love love
every bit of you
But that is a lie

Obligation of compassion
Simulation of emotion
Automatic confirmation
Garbling words into thin air
when no one is there
when no one should care

Me and my primeval pleonasm
when will we ever cease?
Not as the Sun does shine
and melodies appease

I long long long long
to be with you
But that is a rumor

Decades went
Observation comprehends
Never as easily to turn
Yet, a voice overlooked
is a face of hostility
Detached from humanity

Alienation antipathy aversion
Displeasure drives inadequacy
Retelling tales of disbelief
Unpolished familiarity

Long ago, today, tomorrow
a malnourished heart
is dead as I am

Tuesday, September 27, 2011, 5:15 – 5:45 PM

Weaving Webs of Woe

The Spider is nesting
Weaving webs of wisdom
Detangling martyrdom
Into a trap of tragedy
A bubble of future brood
Click clack flip flap

The Poet is disintegrating
Weaving webs of woe
Crying cursing bursting
Cold, too cold, turn it off!
These people! Them!
Turn them off!

She wants to be the Spider
(So she told me)
Gracefully swinging
From a cracked old ceiling
Swoop swoop
Stealthily shooting
Off the bark in a spark
Rocketing down
The sigh of an azure sky
Swaying up high
Lively as a lark

And along the branches
The softest nimblest
Tiniest little wispy legs
Crawling hurrying
Inhabiting the planet
Whispering flimsy hopes
To her black bloodshot eyes

She wants to be happy
So I kiss her and I kiss her
To make her broken heart
Unbroken again
Fragile baby spiders carousing
In her black bloodshot eyes

Tuesday, September 27, 2011, 5:57 – 7:29 PM

Undo Redo

I am hiding
in my closet
You wish not
to be my dad

What would a poet do
without her woe?

Leave, quietly
You and I
without a sound

Should have not
from the start

Have I wronged you?
Have I wronged them?
But you are them
One of a kind

Did the drugs numb
the pain, or your heart?
I am mending
without a sound

A cycle so vicious
It breaks after selfishness
A kindness so selfish
It aches after emptiness
Undoing redoing
without a sound

I cannot convert you
for it means hurting
You will not contain me
for I mean nothing
And you say otherwise
A thing of fancy
in times of tragedy

Have I wronged you?
Have I wronged anyone?
Have I been evil that I
deserve nothing but
a secondary place
for a secondary pleasure
far below your race?

Forgive my blustery
speaking another language
outside your frequency
You are one of them

Undo me redo me
I bleed too much
without a sound

Thursday, September 29, 2011, 1:44 – 3:37 PM

When the Moon Was Blood

You, fiend, the lowest of your kind
What have you to defend your crime?

The grief inside my head
declaims your godly name
Broods and broods and broods

The sting inside your dread
demands a godless worshipper
Never an equal, surely not a friend

Vain, vainer, and vainest:
the disease of automation
The nature and infection
of this twenty-first century

Add one friend; add a thousand
Fawn fake falsify fabricate
for fame — fun virtual fame
When friendships are deletable
and people removable
Feelings remain forgettable

Keep in mind, darling majesty
I am not here to hold your
fucking crown

Is she mad? Is she mad?
Worry not. She was born mad
A witch whose tale bears
a scorpion’s toxin plagues
Her love violent; hate turbulent

Have you found the word to
construe the weeping waif?
Have another sip before it gets old
But wait. Time heals everything
Madder, then maddest

What is wrong with everyone?

Everyone is a celebrity
It takes a hundred questions
to harvest a one-word reply
in ninety-seven days
Yes, love, I know how to count
Sorrow is not a complicated
long division; neither is distaste

Thursday, September 29, 2011, 5:02 PM –
Friday, September 30, 2011, 2:35 AM


Oh! I am most terribly sorry.
Did I embitter you?
I only verse thirty-one years
of common sense.
Did it burn your element?
Perhaps another time
you are seeking one
that sugarcoats her every
line to maintain a harmony,
charading little white lies,
sounding like Life’s parody,
speak not with a mad Scorpio.
Befriend Cinderella.

Friday, September 30, 2011, 3:35 PM


unpunctuated verses
carry my caresses
bury me bury me
into the ground

under the branches
from chart to chart
skin me alive sweetheart
tarry me tarry me

beyond these clouds
amidst untruth
from heart to heart
falling so gently apart

you darling you you
the lurer of death
cry of your breath
convulsion of my lungs

i miss you not
i miss you never
bury me bury me
into forever

when trouble finds
and commiseration binds
forsake me forsake me
consume me never

Friday, October 7, 2011, 12:16 AM –
Saturday, October 8, 2011, 10:41 PM

Semantic Differential

You called it "love"
A thing that swerves
As the other confines

Where is it?
But rage, but repugnance
Its core lies intolerance
Its substance belligerence
More synonymous to illiberality
How you beget antipathy
Thank you for hate, dear Love

You called it “friendship”
The compass points to your Sun
The language your tongue

Superiority beseems empathy
What about condescending
Slur of its most hideous kind
Mine: unequal to your taste
Unworthy of your praise
Sampling a different slant
Thank you for foe, dear Friend

You called it "forever"
Unchangeable, insuperable
Until you dub it otherwise

Pretty is eternity (a promise!)
Sightly as immaturity (revenge!)
When alteration finds
Twenty-four hours of your day
Less than one second is mine
Neither good nor serious enough
Thank you for expiration, dear Forever

Permit my blasphemy
O’ your royal highness
Most excellency
God of all men
The axis of the Universe
Let me defend my shame

For in my language
I name it ego
A function that serves
A planet of merely one

Sunday, October 9, 2011, 12:34 – 11:52 PM

A Whisper Too Late

Come, love
Let me poison you
With the spleen of my lips
There —

Let it sink in your vein
Turning your red blood black
Your desolation intact
And my mind wanders
Into visions of you
Last night

Early morrow I wake
A cushion so cruel
As your chest — oblivious
To the force of my embrace
Thrown farther away
For the rest of my life

Powerless as the roots
Of remembrance
Growing grasses of apathy
Green as guile
The toxin of my tales
You memorized and dumped
How much am I worth?
Not a line, not a line
Never shall you hear of me

For I am pain
(Erase me, erase me)
Your body immune
To the virus of my bane

Monday, October 10, 2011, 6:11 – 7:31 PM

The Result of Insult

You, villain
shut me out

Insult me:
Fuse my fury

Your aloneness
found me
Carefully — deliberately
I mothered you
In mercy, by grace

Was I not the one
who paused to linger
when everyone else
deserted you?

Insult invokes
a demonic Muse

You wronged me
betrayed me
Whatever rationalization
took its monstrous shape
Abused and abused

Still, I endured
A closet masochist
attempting compassion
Outwitting reason

Your decision —
a decree
your side of the story
Never mine
Never mind me

Insult me again:
Hear my patience
turning into absence
So loud, so loud
It murders you
Displacement is in place

Four minus seven:
a denouement
I never look back

Monday, October 10, 2011, 10:20 PM –
Tuesday, October 11, 2011, 2:26 AM

Typical Tropical Afternoon

A woman
sitting on top
four giant sacks
of wan Javanese rice
thinking she was on clouds

Floating with
countless caged canaries
songless sparrows
and fearless finches
Her toes pressing the bitter
cracked marble tiles

Five cats
Nine twitchy kittens
Rooster and hen
The divorced duck,
forlorn without a mate
A plate of fried squids
Their deadened eyes
cursing, violently

All were alone:

Their home dozed
Huffing the thirty-three
degrees of lust
from Sun to Earth

All were silent
in consent

The frequency of heat
blinding their skin
In the air were waves
of suppressed anguish
humid as Hades

Grander than God
was her incandescent
enshrouding how much
she missed you so

How much —
can you contain?

Tuesday, October 11, 2011, 5:51 – 10:43 PM

Di Balik Cermin

Semerah sang Surya
Seringkas itu pula
Kaulah —

Sayu di matanya
layu bak kantung teh
terendam beribu jam
Mengadu ia pada cermin
yang bersungut mencerca
Tidakkah kau malu,
hai wanita? Kecambah
dosa dan gerabah dusta
Parasmu hina tanpa cela

Dan gulita pun meyambut
dalam seiris kemalangan
kokok jago berjumpa setan

Siapakah Tuhanmu
saat dunia menjelma
neraka — aku atau dia?

Sabdanya mencumbu
Kau tangkup damba
Kuncup-kuncup renjana
bermekaran sejagat
Gugur nirwana dibuatnya
Iri tanpa inti, sesat sesaat
merambat dan melumat
detik-detik kemaksiatan

Tatap aku, pintanya
Hatiku ungu merindumu
Hampa berongga, lesap
berasap dimangsa rayap
Apakah kau tahu?

Malam bukan tempat
mengemis cinta atau
memohon gerhana
Darahku beku

Kamis, 13 Oktober 2011, 1.55 – 3.31 pagi
Read the English version titled “Behind the Mirror”

Behind the Mirror

Sanguine as sunset
Swift as it goes
You are —

Pensive eyes of hers
a sodden bag of tea
steeped a thousand hours
To the mirror she sighs
So it pouts; reviles
Are you not abashed,
o’ woman? Stems of
sins and casks of calumny
Your aspect spoilt blameless

And blackness perpetrates
in a slice of misfortunate
rooster’s warning of a ghost

Who is your God
should Earth interlock
Hell — he or I?

His behest woos
You detain prospect
Buds of yearning
bloom across the Universe
Shedding Heaven
Envy off energy, left astray
soaring and grinding
each second of amorality

Look at me, he implores
My purple heart longs for you
Hollow and holed, departed
in smokes eaten by termites
Have you any idea?

Night is never a scene
to beg for love, nor
to pray for an eclipse
My blood freezes
in waiting

Thursday, October 13, 2011, 6:07 AM – 5:12 PM
Translated from my very first Indonesian poem “Di Balik Cermin”.


There is a burning inside my head
Must I confess?
I would not
Those words I am unable to say
turn into a pain
A Hell the size of my brain
Tiny but sure feels deadly
Would you hear them?
Or must I run?
Again and again and again
Like I used to
(Run! RUN!!!
Run before it hurts; before it destroys)
And so I run

See me run:
Beyond reason
Beyond comparison
Beyond doubt
Because I have no choice
Because it is not mine
Because it is fated, so long ago
when I was six
The determination that took over me
That I knew
I was so pure that I knew
It was there; we were there
(How could you?!)
Because I never matter
So undo me, mother
Undo me now!
Turn me into a stone
You are my last hope
The very last door I shall open
For I am dead
Waiting for your call
For the day to arrive
The day you forget me

Forget me

(It was my kiss you gave
Mine, mine, mine!)

Wednesday, November 9, 2011, 9:57 PM


And the pain turns into a stone
the size of my brain

It kills slower
than a backward clock
rewinding Time

But it kills

And I smile to myself
The liar in the mirror

I smile to everyone
And to you, lovey
(Because you are everyone!)
You shall see what they see
A painted smile
as the words run

Wednesday, November 9, 2011, 10:19 PM

The Unlucky

Please say it is not so
I would not want to go there
Never more
Could you leave?
Forever, this time
So I could be who I was
I could do what I used to do
Alone: crying without a sound

Did I not try too hard?
Or feel too much?
Still, I am outside the periphery
Looking in; observing
Never once a part of the game
Did anyone understand?
I believe not

Some are so lucky
of having Love
Everyone showers them
with attention
Spoils them with kindness
Encourages their weeping souls
And they do not even have to try
Their stories come with privileges
All they do is to exist

The unlucky strive
only to be heard
I must beg
Expectation disappeared,
as soon as I knew
I never mattered to anyone
Familiarity of life
In the end, I accept this
as something unchangeable
Tolerance heightens

As a child, I traded
the flesh of my heart
with stainless steel
I had to. Because I knew,
it would never change
Nothing changes
When I cry, I face
the same emptiness
as what I endured
twenty-three years ago
The future holds nothing
but lonesome days
Hours I spend alone, wishing,
but ending up cursing

We, the unlucky,
invisible to your human eyes
Blank paper my only friend
Death my God

Saturday, November 12, 2011, 1:12 – 2:17 PM

Headless, Heartless

The pungent mouth houses
a thousand bacteria
Each one eager to rot

Toothache, bleeding gum
And each moves stealthily
spreading its reign
an inch upward, gnawing
The nose, again bleeding
No more wispy breath
The ears decaying
Not a sound, and the eyes
hollowed as Terror
hollering depths of

Without a bone
holding the brain, it cries
Melting into the Sun
Childlike, the headless body
rests while touching the heat
of its heart, feeling it
Grateful: without a head,
the heart sees better
Endless brilliant lights

But the bacteria stops
never — not a minute
to waste, they chant

Succinctly, the veins of
the headless heart are
gone, so are the arteries,
the four chambers
There is nothing to feel
The heartless body
now a carcass
not knowing where to turn

These bacteria infiltrate
your mouth
Your lustful, dirtiest mouth
There is where it starts

Sunday, November 13, 2011, 2:27 – 3:09 AM

Rindu Berbumbu Racun
— Rade Panjaitan dan Amel Anniza

Pada kuat gurat kisah kita, kubenamkan asmara
Tuhan dan setan, malaikat dan pejabat, tahu birunya masa laluku:
dongeng malam berpaku sendu
Dengan riuh kuhembuskan sesal
Di balik ajal kukejar angan segumpal — dan kau,
kau dan mereka sengau meracau
Bukan cinta ini, pertemuan itu, semua kepahitan yang kusesalkan,
hanya waktu yang tak berpengulang
Laknatnya masa tiada berperi: Aku sang pertapa
terbang menerjang bayang
Baiklah selesai itu, biar terbakar berjelaga semua kembali
Dan kau hilang berpetualang. Kau kikis gerimis peneduh kalbu,
entah ragu entah rindu. Apa maumu?
Indah itu hanya denganmu, bukan dia bahkan diriku
Resah itu bagai mengunyah bisikanmu: semua dusta
Maka biar selesai kemarau ini, biar pahit bagimu dan aku
Manusia amatlah fana. Namun hujan? Hujan membasuh
kerontang kisruh di mata
Dalam hujan belum bertepi ini, kubisikkan namamu,
untuk terakhir kalinya
Kau sirna. Aku — nestapa berbumbu racun. Kata tiada makna

Sabtu, 15 Oktober 2011, 4.30 sore – Minggu, 13 November 2011, 8.45 malam
Read the English translation titled “Desire in Despair”


In my mouth is your name
A bad advertisement
Stuck in reverse

Did you hear it?

Live your life the way it should
Without me
The way it would
As I was not on your screen
When we knew not the other

Where were you all my life?
Never in my dreams
Someone else’s

To touch your face
Once, only once
So unthinkably pretty
— you are

On my pink left eye
is the trace of your memories
Painful as it closes
And the message reaches
the heart where it punctures
Like a balloon blown too tight

A wound abstaining to heal
Wiping off
the traces of your memories
My heart only smiled
when you called my name

I am losing my power
to bewitch you
Was there ever such?
The blindness in yours
hears not my plea

So pretty, so pretty
Can you ever forgive me?

Thursday, November 17, 2011, 11:12 – 11:42 PM

Cacophonic Nostalgia
— Ciiru Njagi and Amel Anniza

Dandelions dance in the wind
Leaves sleep; grasses weep:
I hide behind a pinkish sunset-streaked cloud
They streak past, stirring the beauty below
Dusk shatters the skies as night critters lilt
an overture to doom
Still I wait, hidden,
wrapping the cloak of night around me
One by one, the twinkling glow greets
as I pass heading for Heaven
A visual cacophony of sudden light blinds me
Entwined, I am slumping into abeyance,
chasing your sound, your sound —
Along I glide. Carried, buried
in song, in light, in color, in night
How blithesome is gloom,
how abundant of quietude!
Lunar lullaby luminates
The sudden stillness stupefies
I lose myself in the abyss
Soon the silences surge; constellations merge
Venus, Earth, and Mars collide
Brilliance blinds my eyes, pulls me in
I am starlight, stardust, planetized!
Glints of nostalgia ambush my psyche,
spine-tingling, chilling as a solar penumbra
Round and round I spin,
waiting for my turn to be touched by the sun
Twirling in the dark, the sunrise my spark,
I long to lit the inferno in your eyes
And be near you —
to melt and merge in fire and faint
until we are formed as one
From afar beyond the transparent skies,
dandelion seeds disperse
Leaves awaken as clouds are splashed
with the light of dawn
Morning ravages; Universe concludes
We are but one, together as none

Monday, September 19, 2011, 2:09 PM –
Thursday, November 24, 2011, 11:50 PM
Self-serving editor: Amel Anniza.

Lusuh Langit Tumpah
— Intan Heryani dan Amel Anniza

sampaikan salamku
kepada kertas kuning lusuh penuh kebohongan
sampaikan sayangku
hingga semburat jingga senja luruh di alam kelam
tes… tes… rinai hujan mulai menghapus jejak sang surya
sukmaku mencair bersamanya
terbang ke negeri di balik tetesan hujan
mengalir deras bersama tinta warna pelangi
di ujung lembah, di balik bukit,
tampak secercah gemintang bertajuk harapan
semilir aromanya memberikan nafas kehidupan
bagi yang berduka
semesta berdoa untuk kepergianmu semalam
membisikkan peluh perpisahan
sang malam bersolek
bertaburkan cahaya rembulan
galaksi Bima Sakti pun berkeluh kesah
penuh amarah berisi titah tak bertuah
satu persatu sinarnya luruh tersapu awan debu
bintang jatuh, jauh di tepi katulistiwa,
pulang membawa kabar tentang kita
perlahan waktu akan membawa sang fajar
kembali ke singgasana
tiada senyap, tanpa arah, seisi langit tumpah
membakar dunia penuh petaka
biarkan aku di sini sejenak
terperangah memandangi kesunyian yang membatu
betapa perih kala mentari membuka hari,
awan bergumam mendendam
lantunan bunga krisan berdendang
membawakan sebuah pesan
sekuntum mendesah pelan
daunnya bagai putri malu tersentuh jari berjelaga
sekuncup dalam setangkai, setangkup penuh seringai
kirimkan kasihku kepada sekerat mendung
terbakar sendu

Senin, 10 Oktober 2011, 12.15 pagi –
Jumat, 25 November 2011, 8.40 malam
Editor: Amel Anniza
Read the poem in its English translation titled “Wrinkled, Wrecked Sky”

Cheap Romance

So I travel to the nearest sea
Intently, treading the soft sandy floor
Farther, farther, till I drown

Saline waves ambush my lungs
Pumping, bursting, they disintegrate
Bits of memory — of our story
Swim; float; dive; submerge
To all the other oceans of the world

Sing they to little fishes
The fishes tell the mermaids
The mermaids sigh to the Moon
The Moon caresses the winds
The winds fly up to the skies
The skies cry, shedding their tears
In rains: drinks for the earth
The earth grows abundant plants
These plants nourish the brains
With bits of my memory

The last was velvet indigo
Stained in sprightly golden stars
Soothing as they languished
Into underwater bleariness
Incoherent black: My eyes closed

And then, then there was you
You, you, you — everywhere!
Your name in every of my breath
Your warmth my consolation
Your sound the bearer of grief

The gladness of finding a friend
The clarity to understand
The shelter from every storm
The lightning that sparked my form
My action, perception, reverie
You were the only part of me

Let the whole world relish
Bits of my memory
Such joy it was to see
That when Misery called
Still, I ended with your name:
love, sorrow, sweetness

Can you hear
the call of Misery — ?

Friday, December 2, 2011, 1:30 AM –
Sunday, December 4, 2011, 5:36 PM

Close Your Eyes

and I shall take you there
To a place beyond your fears,
closer to tears
With invisible wings we fly —
the sky, darling, the sky!

What have you?
What have I?
Possessions and confessions
A slice of misery in between,
sprinkled with stars

And I — wish for
no more of love, but
only what you can give me:
all of you

Not a string of hopes
that fleets with the turn of time
But a steady, solemn gaze
that always reaches mine

Forget the love songs,
the deliverance of exaltation
Seek not my approval
All the temporary depletion
of premises and expectations

Only the thoughts
The unspoken of your mind
A saturated heart, pulsing
swelling, suffocating
as you close your eyes and fall
Take me there

There: where darkness is
our silenced sacrament
Not love, not love

Monday, October 10, 2011, 10:39 PM –
Saturday, December 10, 2011, 5:58 AM

Wrinkled Wrecked Sky

deliver my dedication
to wrinkled bruising paper laden with lies
address my adoration
till the orange-tinted sundown vanished as the dark
drip, drop, rain’s dews diminish the trace of the sun
as my ambiance melts with them
soars to a land beyond jets of rain
flooding in torrents of rainbow-streaked ink
down the valley, behind the hill,
materializes a glimpse of light tallying hope
its lavish fragrance instills the breath of life
to the mourners
the universe prays for your demise last night
whispering sweats of farewell
the evening bedecks
interspersed in glowing stars
the Milky Way, too, whimpers and whines
with resentment of luckless commands
one after another, its light is wiped by storms of dust
a meteorite, kissing the end of the horizon,
arrives bringing a story of us
slowly time shall awaken the dawn
to its rightful throne
soundlessly, aimlessly, all the skies wreck
inflaming a world of misfortune
let me linger here for a while
flummoxed, staring at the stoned silence
how painful it is when the sun greets the day,
clouds droning, disinclined
strains of chrysanthemums circulate
fetching a portion of news
one flower laments sluggishly
its leaves like mimosa shying away from ashen fingers
a bud on a stem, a scoop full of grins
pronounce my passion to a share of doom
fused in gloom

Sunday, November 27, 2011, 1:58 AM –
Saturday, December 10, 2011, 10:30 PM
An unfaithful translation of “Lusuh Langit Tumpah”.

In Another Life

I am the ocean
You are the Moon

With the aspects you shape
The luminance you make
You pull me towards you

The day sedates me
Unassumingly I dream
Of lying, of flying to touch you
Waiting, hours by hours
To maul your light
Your blight calling me

Till night falls
Where I dance wildly as I can
And I run and run and run
To kiss and infect you
To fade into your volcanic mare
Drenching your irony skin
And make you mine:
My only satellite

Your frame, the sky
So high — beyond
The length of my waves
Too faint, timorously faint
And I crawl back
The Earth my destiny
My will, confined

My scar your reflection
Your gravity my song
Calling me to reach you
Calling me to breach you

Sunday, December 11, 2011, 3:54 – 6:19 AM

Dissipated December

Your bed.
Winter dancing in the dark.
I mounted on top of you.
My swollen breasts vexing your pulsating chest.
Your body began to warm.
Taking off your glasses.
The glimmer in your emerald eyes: locked.
Gently, licking your submissive pale lips.
S l o w l y.
Heating them till they burnt with trembling passion.
Eyes closed.
The fruity scent of my strawberry lip balm.
My tongue tasting the moist of your flesh.
Inflamed in heavier breaths.
Hunger for lust.
Caressing you.
Glided and glided.
Drinking your self-conscious desire.
Your concealed thirst.
Imprisoning you.
Defying fate.

Monday, December 12, 2011, 6:53 PM

Desire in Despair

In the abiding intensity of our story, I drown desire
God and ghosts, angels and aristocrats, see the pang of my past:
a tale of night speared in sorrow
Raucously I puff repentance
Behind death, I hound crumbs of hopes — while you,
you and they hoarsely blather
Not this love, that tryst, all the bitterness I bemoan,
but seasons which are irreparable
Such damnable interval is voiceless: I, the recluse
zoom smashing shadows
Therefore, soon after, let all burn in soot once more
And you depart on a quest. You scrub the sprinkles that ease the soul,
be it hesitancy or hankering. What do you seek?
Heaven is found with you, not him, nor me
Angst equals chewing your insinuation: all lies
Thus, let the summer pass; let it be brutal for you and I
Humans are awfully transitory. But rain? Rain pacifies
anarchic droughts within the eyes
In a time of ceaseless deluge, I breathe your name,
for the very last chance
You vanish. I — despair dipped in venom. Words without worth

Tuesday, December 13, 2011, 3:03 – 7:01 AM
An unfaithful translation of the collaborative Indonesian poem
“Rindu Berbumbu Racun”.

The Nature of Pain

On Wednesday, I
could not refine whether I
longed to taste sex with
one greenish American lad
or to sleep so silently

The core of my brain was
a block of ice
heavier to its right, but
frozen all the same
So hot it whiffed
whitish fiery smoke
So white it choked
my black eyes cold

The lad whose skin was
broken glass with
masochistic eyes spitting
fragrance of black dahlias
appeared. Disappeared.
Reappeared. His spite
mouthed fireworks of
insufferable dalliances
Smothering my senses
Arousing, nevertheless

Whereas sleep was
(contrary to everyday
belief) an unnecessary
evil. Such a forgiving
state of dreamy dousing
contemplations, when
all ended in tiresome
machination — to me,
more like a punishment
And still, tyrannical

Between his heavenly
embrace (almost too
painful to forget) and
a seductive nightmare’s
glance, I snatched
the nearest bitter pill
Gnawing, savoring
Its dust electrifying
the spirit in my tongue
Digesting pain
in my right brain

Wednesday, December 14, 2011, 8:43 – 11:39 PM

Where Do You Want Me to Touch You?

On my heart, you answered

But that was a lie
The lewdest ever told

You want me to touch you
on all the inappropriate places
Here, here, and there
where it burns the most

My arms slide onto your back
enfolding you
A protection, so cavalier
A possession, so dear

My ear on your chest,
every beat of your heart
The clock that turns my time

Where do I wish to touch you?

On your unaffected eyes
Closing them into
immortal blindness
Heating them into
the limbo of oneness

Your ears hear only
my reticent breath
Your lips remember
nothing but mine
as they brush yours
Locking them into
obedient muteness

My body pouring
instant Madness
into yours

Your memory
imbibes my warmth
the beating of my heart
The one that loves you least
and cries for you most

Your Mars

Thursday, December 15, 2011, 5:45 – 11:36 PM

Crimson Kisses

November was a curse
— the blackest of its kind

It ended with blind love
(as much I would like
to call it such)
The sort of love that
Robbing me of my sanity
Sacrificing people’s purity
It resurrected the dead;
supplemented a fad
Recounting days of

What noble month is better
than the blue of November
to mutilate a woman’s mind?
— Exactly

It began as gratitude
My habitual subterfuge
Sugarcoated tenderness
The authorization of
counterfeit happiness
But courtesy is no match
for my inky heart

Inmost: too livid, painted
in Hatred
A scream, a roar
The sickest, saddest cry
so full of rancor
Animosity fluxed with
obsession: I surrendered
Was it lunacy? Perhaps
the root of radioactivity

— and wildly throbbing
Its hue a leaking bucket
of crimson kisses

Thursday, December 15, 2011, 4:50 AM –
Friday, December 16, 2011, 5:42 AM

The Haunting

You are loved
by the end of each year
You are measured
by the weight of my tears

My love knows no demand
Never shall it rally to pretend

An emptied expectation
of the purest sentiments
like the Sun waking the reeds
or the Stars tucking their seeds
It gives; it grants
Flaunting a greater garland
of secondary attachment

But who haunted who?

Four days of malady:
fascination, fixation,
passion, preoccupation
The rest unconcern
Disinterest throughout

Interrupted addiction
that wanes and banes
Doting one night,
drudging the next

Like finding Paradise
— of seasickness
You, dearest,
make me queasiest

Thursday, December 15, 2011, 5:12 AM –
Friday, December 16, 2011, 5:32 PM

Oh, Monday

I lust for you. Your body,
blissful fluorescent white,
the only source of light
in my artificial grudge.
How can I not stare? I must.
I must. Just a peek. A secret gasp.
Oh. Oh. Oh. YOU! Why must it be you?
When all the other six days end in -y, too?
Wait till my ill-will slits your throat
and stabs your eyes.
Your bloodstained choke,
when I suck your shock.
Violent, am I not?
You ain’t seen half of it, my dear.
The worst, most-unlawful day,
you baited me. Hooked. Tethered
to the thrust. Psychedelic entrancement
my tomb. Wait till I murder you
and your self-poised purity. You
imagine this is about you.
Most certainly not.
An empty life adulterates gratification,
that it splits my identity in two.
Does Pain not miss me?
I miss Pain so, that I must forgo.
Aloof, with an arsenal of deities.
A bowl of howls. A basin of raisins.
I paint and regain. My self.
Bent and content.
The very selfish part of me,
turning lust into rust.
Splitting your body in two.

Monday, December 26, 2011, 6:10 – 8:54 AM

Sleep and Tears

My Tuesdays are made of sleep
and tears. I search and search
for you from one unending nightmare
to the next. Layers and dimensions
of different lights. Simulation and survival.
But you, you hide yourself somewhere
inside Reality. The only world untouched
by Illusion. You are the weight in my heart
that burns and blights. The black hole
where I plunge and disappear to understand
where I end: my loneness. And I choose to be
the fool; I cannot turn. The hurt, so powerful,
leaves me a purpose. Justification. Life is
made of rejection files and broken-heart piles.
Thus, I speak in violence. Breathe in turbulence.
A test of raw courage. Once I peel my skin,
two doors open: joy and destroy. You run.
You and everyone. I alone feel. Unmasking
Madness; falling into eternal Stillness.
Chasing you from dream to dream.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011, 6:35 – 7:31 PM

Rain and Tears

Loveless sparrow,

On the fifth Wednesday,
rain weeps in my country
as if we had no morrow.
Water seething through
the cracked ceramic tiles,
raping half the dining room.

I listen to a tale of thrill
for an hour or so. Assuming
how divine Life would be
if my ending were that
consoling. But in truth,
mine shall never be.

I bear no right to see you,
or to hear, or to know you.
You bear no need of me.
The predicament I am trained
to tolerate. Like many others.
I love what Life gives me.

And most of all: I want you
to be happy. To find the love
that wholly completes you.
Mine will never do. No matter
how beastly I have howled.

How gory my heart is
when I internalize the fact.
It makes a sloshing sound:
quicksand swallowing
my sanity. Somehow it
refuses to die. How do you
kill a broken heart?

With a bullet made of bones.
Your blood-soaked bones.
That’s how. If I knew loving you
would be so trying, I would
never. But how do you save
a sinking heart?

I love you when I am all alone.
The world quietly falls asleep;
there is no one in this house.
I love you as I stand among
ten million other citizens
rushing to get home at five,
the pink sunset above us.
I love you still, when you
can never love me.

So I sigh and moan and cry.
Silencing the sobbing
with a pillow. Then, running
outside to sit under the rain,
mourning with the potted plants.
Were I the Wicked Witch
of the West, this drizzle
would melt me into rout.

To whom must I pray?
I am faithless and friendless.
No God would ever free me;
no mortal would ever patch me.
Not even you. Because to you,
I am a murderer, am I not?

Wednesday, December 28, 2011, 4:14 – 7:48 AM

Morning's Jinx

I was Thursday's ill-natured child:
a series almost complete. To forget
to forget to forget. Time elapsed.
Afternoon wind caught my bare legs,
strangling them like invisible ropes
injecting the chill of a curse.

After Wednesday, there never is poetry.
The tunnel closes and thus I am left out.
I am the current that surges and pulses.
Friendship fears to mend me: a stranger
to everyone. More of a threat to myself.
Oh, you can try and fail every time,
like you always did. It closes for you, too.

Abject tragedy makes a fine company;
it commands me. Undandled, I march
with midnight, for a sleepless morning
jinxes the rest of the humankind. So

my day begins with thirst: examining
cybernetic snow falling gratuitously
over my window. You can never
sink me. You: this faux congeniality
that spun gold into locust-infested
travesty. We warp Time as a game
of sorrow. Our own private lingo.

Ah, those happy endings —
never shall they be mine!
Many moons ago, I dreamt
to kiss you, but you heard of it,
didn't you?

Friday, December 16, 2011, 11:09 AM –
Thursday, December 29, 2011, 11:28 PM

The Philosophy of Shoes

A bag of peanuts:
half empty, half eaten, half forgotten
Wrapped with two rubber-bands
so mindlessly — too unsightly
How many plastic cases? Scattered, folded
Misprinted papers: crinkled, wrinkled
thrown and frowned

Oh, you would not guess
the content of her trinket box
or her old Oreo pencil case
She stashes stuff and soon searches
forgetting what it was and where

Semicolon her potion and
dashes her troubled passion
Her dreams fabricate fairy tales;
her nightmares the most intricate
horror: She plots while asleep
Breathing words into reality
Escaping into her secret reverie
The clutter her sole witness

Mosquitoes are her only guests,
draining her argument bloodless
And then the phone rings
Once. Twice. Thrice
She fights to sleep (please, let her!)
Mother: Why is it so hard to reach you?
This is your cousin speaking —
Cousin: Shoe sales in Senayan City
You will love those high heels
Aunt: They are ridiculously cheap
The sales end this Saturday
Mother: You should go there,
tomorrow, with your sister

A day at the shopping mall
will reschedule her two poems
and a story — a deathblow
more brutal than a broken heart

Mothers, aunts, cousins
What do they know
of a girl whose love
is buried deep
in poetry?

Friday, December 30, 2011, 12:19 – 4:17 AM

Dear Muse

I am dead inside. Life flows
with decaying contentment
that compromises apathetic peace.
Following natural guidelines,
without defiance. Without discomfort,
the mind is awake. The soul asleep.
Everything balances itself with Time.
Once I complained. And several times more.
Until yesterday, I saw the light behind the dark:
I need not anyone. My self is complete.
The search ended. It was blind truth.
So stark, I heard it laughing.
My reflection in the mirror
speaks soundless words. Feverish
streams of words that only I can feel:
my craft. Like love, like kisses, like bliss.
More solid than wavering humans.
More nourishing than a glass of lies.
Their lies, their promises, their never-ending
misunderstanding. Here, I find my virtue.
Break not the spell.

Monday, December 26, 2011, 7:09 AM –
Friday, December 30, 2011, 4:55 AM

When I Wake

Saturday sunrise slouches
somewhere —
Tousled disarray of hair.
Every strand in its sexiest spot.
Its blistering red highlights.
Skin: dewdrop moist
as the frost of five AM rain.
Serenaded by faraway finches' songs.
Radiant, warm, healthy. Of youth
and its tantalizing fantasy.
Its heat longing to be touched.
Cooled by the breezy wheezy fan.
Eyes of brittle indecency.
Of gleaming hate. Disappointment
after a brief interrupted sleep.
Unkissed lips. Pouting. Preserved
in four hours of strawberry. Juicy
mint tongue. Screaming seduction.
Thirst. Rainbow cotton dress:
green-yellow-peach-blue. Shortened,
pulled up to the hips. Wide, womanly
structure. Explosive curves that swerve.
Crumpled black underwear lazily
covering the lumps of the buttocks.
A pair of braless breasts protruding,
each larger than the cupping
of an adult's hand. Barely noticeable:
the tips of the nipples. Agitated sighs.
Drowned in dreams of desires.
Itching to molest myself
when I wake.

Saturday, December 31, 2011, 5:15 – 8:49 AM

Lost Sunday

Sunday is best spent being lost
In memories, in tragedies,
in times that can never return
Or friends that scarred my days
but could not stay
for one reason or another
And for mending:
mending my self, my countenance,
the people I care about,
mending the threads of Time

When people we love disintegrate,
we conserve what we can
Lining empty buckets to collect
what is left of everyone
Trying to make today finer
than yesterday; painting
a better, brighter picture
than the yesteryears of a lifetime

Sunday, January 1, 2012, 11:50 PM

When the Caged Birds Sing

Between waking and sleeping,
there lies poetry

It was restful this Sunday morning at four
when I heard the caged birds sing
Lurid, vibrant, and longing for freedom,
they disgraced the serenity of Night

Where were the feral sparrows?
Elsewhere: too early for work
Jakartan sparrows are scheduled
to chorus at five, to summon the Sun
to blaze this sad, somber town

You left, and I had no way of knowing
Just as I never had you for twenty-eight
years. Another lifetime without you
must feel like today: normal
Everything falls back into the void

I have come to need no one, to expect
nothing in return. Life is a chain of
solitary complacency. I go with Time,
when everything bears no meaning
Death is nigh —

I can hear It. Tapping at my window
with an unexpected iciness
down my feet creeping through
my legs and ends
with a hollowed heart

Sunday, December 18, 2011, 10:13 PM –
Monday, January 2, 2012, 4:06 AM

Hate Potion #1

I love to appear psychotic. It gives me character.
I love to sound overly-dramatic. It disgusts enough people.
But you know what I love most?
To make these vain fucking phonies leave me alone.
That’s the one thing I love most.


Wednesday, January 4, 2012, 5:08 AM


I shall find
the sharpest knife of the world.
Cut my head open.
Burn my brain
and replace it with enough pain
to fill the hollowness.
The ache will still be there.
But not memories of you.
And then,
slice the flesh covering my chest.
Rip my heart apart.
Feed it to a starving cat.
Stuff the hole
with four hundred grams of stones.
The weight stays.
Not the sentiment.
When I’m done with the two,
I’ll piece them back together
with superglue.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012, 6:54 AM

Impaired Contact with Reality

I am death with no essence
What would you expect of me?

I am extremities:
When I am mad, I am furious
When I am sad, I am suicidal
When I am happy, I am delirious

When was I happy? Never
But the three and a half years
as a student of prose and poetry
Education gladdens, not people
Words invigorate me,
not devious hearts of men

Humans enchant more
only after they die, not alive
I love the dead more than
I love the living
Hatred is the sole reason
for my breathing

Why won't everyone leave me?

Monday, January 2, 2012, 4:40 AM –
Thursday, January 5, 2012, 5:35 AM


is a succulent woman
whose pinkish body reviving
writhing in great dismay
to the rhythmical cold outside
puffing the rogue of January rain
in locks of caramel-scented hair
sniffing her hypercarnal awakening
the pain on her curving back
makes her sit on her cottony bed
soft slender fingers reaching
to undress herself in a slow motion
yank revealing sweet sticky sweat
on her bare skin and on to
undoing her sports bra, grainy gray,
freeing the round plumpness
of her breasts from the ache
embracing her for too long
clothless she hides and lies
under ragged old scanty blanket,
green as ghosts, her irritated purr
as she presses her thighs together
typing this, the estrogenic lotion
in her virgin womb quickening
lusting for men

Saturday, January 7, 2012, 7:45 – 8:33 AM


lingers, loiters, laments for me
now that I miss no soul
it longs for no one but my ego
in my private camaraderie
there live only wishes
foulest forbidden wishes
reeking of putrescence

and a bridge, always a bridge
where I gather enough guts
inhaling morning in iridescent
loneliness of January that fizzles
like the sound of indistinct
drizzle — so I spread my wings
and fly into seconds of brief
Jakartan air; too polluted to
hold my sins, it repels

lately I keep seeing myself
lying on the highway
in the strangest position
my body bent with blood
freshly squeezed red juice
seeping into tiny flows of river
surrounding me, leaving me
trying to escape the pain
my flesh smashed like
ground beef between pink
and purple, boiling with
the broken bones

Death hangs above me
black and smiling
you are there, like I know
you will be, waiting for me
to take me on our wraithlike
bus adventures

between the bridge outside
my house, five minutes away
and the one outside our campus
which will horrify you less?

suicide is bliss
plain painful bliss
like a kiss

Saturday, January 7, 2012, 8:59 – 10:11 AM


will not dissolve after
I scrubbed the core of my judgment
with creamy milky liquid soap
that leaves dulcet vanilla fragrance

I am the antidote of Love
Death my savior
pointless how long and hard I tried
bathing under the purest water
nothing cleanses my soul
for it carries the seed of fury
a tree grows there; its roots
the veins in my body transporting
bile as nourishment, as energy
commanding to kill

people and their hurtfulness
these are the ones to execute
their wants desecrating others'
their voice the product of
the egotist spreading bigotry
advocacy of narrow-mindedness
of believing they are better
than the Universe

I murder them one after another
including you and your filth
break, break yourself now
before the venom in my witch's
brew knocks there
and I secretly reach you

Saturday, January 7, 2012, 11:42 AM – 12:32 PM


are synonymous to foes
at least in my recent days
or years it seems —

surely I am in the wrong
they are always right, are
they not? needing me when
they needed something
for their own advantage
calling me, insistently,
to get an answer, making
sure I am of use

oh but oh where are they
when I need them the most?
nowhere: not here not there
simply out of reach, unable
to be of use like the blank
tone of a phone call that
dials emptiness

like static plastic forgetting
its mold, their hearts
disconnect and never
learn to understand
give them two kind years
and get blank air in return

my hands now scissors,
sharp and snappy, cutting
ties as they turn flavorless
and the weight I pull
becomes one-sided

I hold grudges dearly
as I hold a lover's hand
but you must have heard
of this? for I thought you
were my friend

Saturday, January 7, 2012, 1:48 – 3:33 PM

Little Things

You don't know me
and you won't ever
because we stopped
when I said we did

Like the pain
in my upper arm:
comes and goes
bulging, paralyzing
Like a child reeling
for a bag of toys
whining, wavering

You are what's left
in dreams
and the little things
you forgot to retract
from my misery
What reminds me:
We will never be

Sunday, January 8, 2012, 3:56 PM


Love drops like dews drugging
the morning we meet after forever
It haunts us from a forgotten dream
Destiny and damnation, where
you and I collide — one kiss, missed
A hospital lane when we knew
who we are, what we will become
Strangers melt into misty shadows
like fast-forwarded scenes in
a movie we cannot punctuate
We forgot each other for childhood
was a time of indistinctness —
primal fears consuming our insides
Revalidation would mean sacrifice,
so we surrendered into the current
Silver strings pulling us away from
each other: separation of souls,
of red-blue-yellow merry-go-round,
rusty chains of swings, the squeaking
of happiness and summer winds
stealing the leaves of a banyan tree
A thousand wingless years yearn
We hold onto the corroding floor
Its grayness: the vines locking
our limbs, petrified into stones
At the ruin of Time we visit our
tombs and adulthood is a passage
of lust and nightly revenge where
our lips whisper, "There you are"
And your thick hardening virility
thrusting into me, shamelessly
ripping my virginity

Tuesday, January 10, 2012, 2:12 – 3:02 PM

Red: Sardonic and Sad

Black wishes to be red.
Like a rose
victimized by a lover.
Red as savagery.
It trudged through Friday
believing. Hating. Calculating.
What goodness have I?
I am sorrow, darkness,
and Death.
No one wants me.
I am forgotten,
forsaken, abandoned.
The only skill I master
brings people calumny.

Red wishes to be
translucent, magnificent.
It gushes and rushes
and runs to the most
forbidden places.
To find truth. The most
beautiful of all truths.
In every inch of humanity,
carelessly grows
an epidemic sickness
called love. It enchants.
Romancing its prey into
the blindness of jealousy.

And so the lovesick red
turns black.

Friday, December 30, 2011, 12:43 PM –
Friday, January 13, 2012, 10:44 PM

White as a Wall

You, darling doll,
most lickable when
swollen with fury
I am agony;
you are sanity

(Everyone else please leave
quietly, for I work alone
ensnaring my weakest prey)

Were I irony, you’d be crucified
Hung upside down from a tower
Hands twisted and tied
Your head dipped in the moat
Inhaling water and dirt
An undying amusement
Bound by my immortal curse

Whoever said I would be
a romantic saint?
Sadistic is more of my game

Sunday, January 15, 2012, 5:08 PM


Show me the color of happiness,
for I have never seen one
Is it the blooming of a girl
whose garnet hair looks wildest
as she wakes and wrinkles?

Is it like seeing purple?
It makes me cry
You haven't quite seen purple
until it brings tears
to your driest eyes
It is bland blue
or paler pink

Like knowing you
without having the urge
to know you better
After some time,
knowing you feels like purple

Like watching you
and never knowing the pain
you feel inside, growing and gone
Watching you is resentment
or the price of perjury
I quiver in relaxation
as well as exhaustion
of theatrical courtesy

Either I changed in years
or pushed the brake
whenever I sensed myself
nearing the dangerous zone
Leashing irreversibility
that would break us apart
like the fifteen minutes
before our fourth year

Never I wanted anything of you
but to listen to the shuffling pulse:
your heart versified
Injecting narcotic disorientation
to rationalize this uncertainty
Knowing you are real
as the world breathes in silence
pouring purple happiness
into my corpse-like eyes

Wednesday, January 18, 2012, 12:30 AM –
Thursday, January 19, 2012, 7:20 PM


I found you down in a crack
between Heaven and Hell
as I was running from Fury

You were slithering out
of your calico chrysalis with
one wing black, the other gold
Half-moth, half-butterfly

Threateningly beautiful
I recorded thirty hours
of your soft-spoken sound
in my heedless head
and play it on rewind
Forever dreaming of you

Thursday, January 19, 2012, 8:30 PM

Image is Sylvia Plath's poem "Lady Lazarus", arranged on Wordle,
texturized on Picmonkey.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Do you dare disturb the Universe?