Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

8

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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Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

O, Brother!

O, brother
Why have thou come hither?

The morrow are being wither
Bone marrow are being batter
My sorrow will not be better
I can’t give thou bread and butter

For I, too, hold my hunger
You shall have to suffer

O, brethen
You call me heathen
Burn me at stake
make me a steak

My meat is meek
Blood wine as sleek
What will you seek
After I break?

Live like Jesus die like Jesus
Beelzebub babbling bobbling pus
Brother will you let me pass
working as hard as an ass

To give food on your family plate
To be good as a man on a gate
To be fooled by your poor little slate
To die bold on the hands of my mate.

O, brother
Why have thou come hither?

Can’t thou love me any better
Than to be sad and bitter?






Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi, Uncategorized

Hunger

My hunger

I have told you this thousands of years ago

my hunger

is a monster you can never comprehend

Hell, I can’t even comprehend it myself

My hunger, my hunger

I run like mad horse

a black cube in the desert floating

made of pitch darkness

bottomless vacuum

my hunger, my hunger

How can I love you and live with this hunger

but how can I tell you about this hunger

when you have lost your limbs for me

And my dear doctor asked

“Will you satisfiy your hunger with a new prey?”

To be honest I’d rather die

Yet here I am devouring love

of a Goddess while chewing

at yout bones

Cinta, Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi

Room

There is no outside world
just this room
spacey, controllable environment
and I am free, inside

I escape reality
reject responsibility
my body and mind lack capability
to move, strive, struggle, no agility

But I am not running, no
how can I run if I can’t even stand,
nor speak, nor think straight
or see the light that bestowed upon me

But I do believe in love, that surpasses all
I do believe that if we love each other, all of these
sickness does not matter,
love does not make it better
or worse, it will put fidelity in the gutter

What it surpass is our understanding
to one another and to ourselves

That there is no bad intentions
in loving one another
but dire consequences
lies in unfulfilled desire

Despair is the sickness
everyone must endure
unto death

I love you
and nothing can stop that

But we can stop
hurting each other
by stopping those
that entails love.