Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

Skip a Beat

We are hurting each other
Just by existing and living
You see the stars and follow my footsteps
Yet you have to deny me because I was right,
and you hate that.

And my heart skipped a beat
Every time I see you, I’m still looking for you too
once in a while.
On the stars.
In every crypt.

You will always deny me.
You will always be angry.
And hate me. And love me.
In whatever way.
In poems, films, works, go on. Go on.

My heart skipped a beat. One beat. Two beat. Three beat. And in every broken heart and lovers lost… It skipped a beat.

And there’s a little bit of me
In everything you do,
Those are the heartbeat that you took.

By beat. By beat.
And the last beat, will be
for billions of years that
created my first heartbeat.

P.S. It’s so great being on our own in our own little world, ain’t it?

Cinta, Eksistensialisme, Puisi

Burning Brine

Lord I am drowning
In my own tears
Since these glimpses
Just won’t let me go

I see corpses of my uncle, auntie, best friend, father

Dead bodies, empty vessels, fade voices and laughters

And I can’t stop thinking about my sins and guilt

I don’t think I am a victim
On the contrary, I was a perp
Inflicting pain to others
Like strains of hair on her sink
Or scars below her belly
Or my hand marks on her neck

And my dear sibling inability to function
Or my mother constant sadness in her laugh

Jesus how did you take the sins
By being crucified, betrayed.

Sleep now, sleep my friend
All will be done in no time

All shall pass

To the grave in a hope for grace

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Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi


We are homeless
wandering with our backpack
from one place to another

We went to different direction,
we experience and experiment
with life and people and nature
and folklore and fairytales
and spirits and magical things

Searching for rituals, to be transcended
searching for each other, to be ascended

Sometimes we got really tired
and we rest our head in a place
just to be woken up by the reality
that the place is not ours

Home is nowhere to be found


Today we found each other in the intersection of 8
8 is what separate us from each other
8 is the infinite meeting point of two halves
8 is where we apart, and where we shall meet

again and again and again.


She said, “You have anchored yourself to a home. I am homeless.”

He said, “I’m not anchored, I am having a vessel.”

She said, “You anchored yourself to that vessel. It’s your home.”

He said nothing. She always wins an argument, she’s that half that wins.

8 is a loop. Infinity loop, with infinite possibilities.

Its the most magical number, the number of reincarnation
of complexity, the ultimate uroboros

“I am building a home,” he wished he said this to her, “but its not mine.”
“it belongs to people who love me. But mine, I have no idea where. Until today.”

He found her as a temple of worship, where his lost soul subside
in her melancholy, anxiety, and wisdom

She found him an idea of a man, that shouldn’t be exist
in this world of cruelty and egos.

He found his true home in 8
she, however, still wanders,
but as constellations change for billions of years
8 will still be a number of infinity,
and when the two halves meet again
one will stay, the other will wander.

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Alam, Cinta, Puisi

Antara Tanah Liat dan Batu Kali

file yang terkubur, mungkin terjemahan atau sangat terpengaruh Rimbaud

Photo by cottonbro on

Cinta tidaklah memuaskan dirinya sendiri
atau mengasihi diri sendiri

Cinta memberikan ruang pada yang dicinta
& membuat surga dalam keputusasaan neraka
Keliatan tanah membentuk kemanusiaan
rela terbentuk dan hilang oleh alam

Cinta hanya ingin memuaskan dirinya sendiri
untuk mengikat orang lain demi kesenangan pribadi
bahagia atas keterbatasan yang dicintai
dan membangun neraka atas nama surga

Kekerasan tersapu air dan menjadi bercahaya
licin, menjebak, dan membawa kekerasan
kita adalah daun yang terbawa di antara
Tanah liat dan batu kali

Depok, 5 Juli, 2008

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