[Lyrical Prose] Listen to Our Homeland’s Mourn

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This is our homeland. One of God’s masterpiece, home of world hundreds active volcanoes; long stretch of coastline from the west to the east; heaven of tropical rainforest, various species of exotic animals and plants.


Here, we stand to welcome the sun. Surrender ourselves to the morning for the sake of new hopes.
“We’re born and die here”.


Our homeland is a piece of paradise. Mountains become the upstream of rivers and tributaries that flows happiness and life. Seeds that we sown, grow thousand grains of goodness. Human use it to support their lives.


But, our homeland is exchanged with money. Capital owners and deceitful politicians suck the citizens blood.


Mining’s everywhere, dredge up bowels of the earth. Sea and river polluted by mercury and plastic. Fishes are die. Our lungs filled with pollution.


Trees roots are not strong enough to handle the water flows. Forests are gone, converting to oil palm plantation. The villas stand tall on top of the hill, swallowing ecological areas.


When the rain comes so often, everything’s float off and die, swept away by the flood. Left pain and sorrow that will be recorded in our memory.


Our motherland endures her pain, due to the ungrateful behaviour of her children. intelligent human beings that never use their brain. Feels like the one who can take a control while they’re just souls that full of greed.

Sept 20th, 2021


Prose Poetry | Ordering a Poem

photo by Sheep from pexels

I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with a middle-aged man in a stall when I passed by on Sunday at 6 am. Seems like you left your anxiety and regret to be written on an article that released at a homepage even though it couldn’t be the headline. I would like to join, but, I just kept myself away from you and started to make a new conversation because I didn’t know if it was true or just an assumption that played in my head.

I remember when you visited my veranda few days ago, you ordered a poem. Were you joking? And these verses were created, with or without you read it.

Another day you asked me “when”, when it could be an ambiguity, between literal meaning or just a metaphor. Because in a pandemic wave, red zones, restrictions and the death that stalks us even more, the question of “when” is about mystery, prediction and uncertainty.

The distance that we can reach through a screen, my words are announcement without voice but heard by you on the other side which I hope is fine.

August 9th, 2021

Prose | The Story of Two Rooms

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I only have one heart. But, there’re two rooms on it. Room 1 is just like a veranda in our home. Room 2 is just like the inside of our home.

Room 1 appears itself in a form that can be recognized by others because it’s in the outside. It has “two sides” : good or bad. Even though people often identify it as something bad.

Room 2 is harder to see with the naked eyes. It’s more special. Cause only you and Him know more what’s hidden inside. He designed it for you as a gift.

In the middle between the two rooms, there’s one space that connects the two. It’s on the top and highest position. It can lean on room 1 or room 2. It can incline to “good” or “bad”. Depends how you treat and use it. It can lead you to the light or darkness. It can lead you to the wisdom or destruction.

Room 1, room 2 and the middle room between the two are like a congruent triangle love affair. All of them form harmony even though they often fight each other. One of these three is mising, the balance will be broken. Cause all three have created a perfection in us as human beings.

Yogyakarta, August 15th, 2019-07.03 p.m.

*) Notes : The prose explains about the relationship between human mind and heart. Mind and heart are like two sides of a coin that can’t be separated. Without mind, heart can’t provide for life. Without heart, mind often does damage. I got an inspiration to write this prose after read a philosophy article about the same topic. The writer said that our heart is only one but consists of two rooms or entities (outer and inner) with different characteristics. The outer heart represents lust while the inner heart (or often called conscience) represents God’s traits that are internalized in every humans. Meanwhile mind is an entity that complements both of them, so, it makes us different from His other creatures, such as animal and plants.

I Still Write A Poem About You

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Do you remember when we chased each other in the rain to come first at the bus stop? You overtook me at the junction while mocked at me. I got sulky and hit you playfully when I came behind you. Then we laughed together. We were still 15 years old back then. And we’re proud of doing this sillyness.

Do you remember when we sent warm greetings towards each other on the radio every night? You and I were radio listeners, radio lovers. Maybe the current generation never know how it feels about send greetings or just request a song for your friends, crush, boyfriend/girlfriend or ex through the radio anymore. Like we did when we were still teenagers.

Do you remember when we met an annoying old man who made a fuss on the bus? All of passengers were quiet. Paying attention of what’s happening. We stared each other while hold our grudges. When we getting off of the bus, we released our nags. We cursed him a lot.

I still write a poem about you not because I’m sad we can’t be together anymore. I just want to thanked you for making a great memory with me.

I still write a poem about you not because I’m still love you even though I’ve ever had a crush on you when I was in middle school. I just want to keep our secrets and stories in my journal, so I can open it again when I feel like giving up about my life and dreams.

Yogyakarta, June 18th, 2019-11.53 a.m.

How I Turn The Words Into A Poem

Do you know why I like cloudy and windy weather? Yeah, cause I won’t feel my body sunburn or my head is boiling and will explode soon. I also don’t need to worry about getting wet or catch a cold cause of raining. It’s perfect for me. Not too hot, not too cold. Just like this morning.


I don’t know if this city is still asleep or half-awake cause the streets are quite deserted. Ah, maybe because today is Saturday? Weekend? I don’t even know why. Who do you think I am? Should know everything? The thing I know now is I sit here at the veranda, drinking a cup of coffee while seeking an inspiration. Voices in my head asked, “what should I write today?”


Finding a good and right word to be arranged into whole sentences has never been easy for me. I often had a fight with my inner self, argue a lot with the voices in my head just to find a good and right word. I said “A”, they said “B”. I wanted “this”, they wanted “that”. How could I deal with these fight?


I always act like a chef when it comes to write, especially poem. My poem doesn’t only consist of words, but also : the unspeakable love, the eternal dreams, a passionate longing, non-bleeding wounds, a half of joy that flew away and the other half that left in my memory. Concocting all of them in my head, pour into a piece of paper, let the pen executes every words even comas and dots. The time will be the furnace that cook all of them till done. Then I’ll serve it with a cup of morning warmth and a plate of friendliness of sunlight. And I’ll give them all to a wanderer who’s thirsty for love and hungry for affection.

Yogyakarta, June 15th, 2019-04.15 p.m.

Dusk, River and Wind That Whispered A Bad News On Dry Leaves

photographed by sasint (pixabay.com)

Stood up on the edge of river made me realize that something was gone. Something that becomes a part of my childhood memories. An only tree that stood up on the riverbank, now starts to shed its leaves. Make it looks more pathetic. An orange tinge on the sky makes my heart more melancholy (or maybe pity).


I remembered about the river that looked like a crystal till we could see our reflection on it. I missed the calming river flow that hypnotized me with its lullaby. Now it doesn’t exist anymore. Almost no life or balance. Replaced with blackened river, urban slums and faces full of despair.


I also remembered when we could still swim or just sat on the riverbank to enjoy the dusk. One time, two times, we messed up with a group of swimming swans or flocks of birds that perched on the tree. Some little boys tried to fly their kites higher, some little girls sang a happiness song to lighten up the time. Now, it doesn’t exist anymore. Almost no pleasing voices. Replaced with vehicle or factory noises and wind that whispered a bad news on dry leaves.

Kota Wali, June 7th, 2019-05.28 a.m.

The Last Station and Our Never-Ending Debate

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If I could stop the time, I wouldn’t waste my time to dive in your deep dark eyes. From those eyes I could realize that you’ve kept the secrets since we’re not mature enough to understand love and hate. We were into an argument of mystery of night sky and morning sky that unveiled all mysteries. Although we knew each other that the debate will never find ‘agree’ or ‘disagree’ as a result.


In the last station, we sat next to each other on the old bench that’s even older than our parents age. We’re into the never-ending debate again till tired then decided to shut our mouth few minutes later. Maybe we ran out of conversations or just too tired to argue. Then I heard you sang a sad song which made me recalled our memories of the old days.


The train has passed one by one. Our memories passed one by one in my head. You always know how to trigger my mind and messed up with my feeling. The last station becomes silent witness of many encounter and farewell.


I have to go”, you said to me 5 minutes before the last train arrive.

You throw a jaded glance at me. Waiting for my response. Asking for my answer. Hoping I would hold your hands and make you stay here.


You feel heaviness on your legs as the train arrive. You glance at me one more time.

You have to go. I’m okay.”

I can feel my body’s trembling and try to hold my tears back.

You stroke my hair.

Whispering in my ears, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’ll miss our never-ending debate. The last station will always be the best place to gather our love.”

Kota Wali, June 2nd, 2019-07.36 a.m.

A Woman Who Keeps Fire In Her Heart

source : https://www.pexels.com/photo/burning-book-page-1474928/

I lost to count how many days since the rain continued to flush this city. Leaves, lands, roofs, roads were wet. Left any puddles everywhere. Falling and melting in the rivers, lakes and ocean. Till it left coldness that gripped my bones and joints tightly.

It’s the best time for people to take shelter under the roofs and curled up under the blanket. They’re in a hurry to close their eyes faster. Resting all of tired senses, mind and heart after being forged by the sun’s heat, trapped in the traffic jams and chased by the deadline. But, there’s a woman who sat in her corner’s room. Holding a pen, scratching something I didn’t know. I could see her death stare. Her facial expressions implied something I didn’t understand the meaning behind. Because it’s like fusion between disappointment, anger, despair and weakness. Maybe fate has betrayed her.

The air was so cold outside. But, not with her heart that kept the fire. The fire is getting bigger. If she could take it out, maybe the whole city would be burnt. I thought there’s someone or something that switched it on. Whether it caused by consciousness or not.

Maybe you’ll ask how to extinguish the fire.

“No, dear! You can’t!”

“The fire will never be extinguished.”

It’s not really disappear from her heart. It’s just getting smaller. Someday, the fire can flare up to burn everyone and everything in the right moment.

Yogyakarta, May 24th, 2019-10.59 a.m.

If The Time Turns Into A Ghost, Where Are You Going To Hide?

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In this life, we always race against the time. The time slowly erases our age number till its end. If it comes to us, we’ll only be people who carry out our stories.

We’re the true explorer who wander to taste bitter-sweetness of life, find wisdom and sometimes immerse ourselves into contemplation. The time shows us some unexpected places, brings us together with another names and creates a beautiful memories on our minds. But, the time slowly cut out of the distance between life and death without us knowing it.

The time is like a mystery. It can make us find the answers of questions then mislead us to another questions.

We are all walk in the time tunnel. Sometimes, we have to grope the walls in the dark to keep ourselves going and not falling. Sometimes, we have to leave memories trace on every path we have passed. Sometimes, we have to quit on the crossroad to think again which way should we choose for the next journey.

In this journey, there’re always people who are ready and not ready. The time doesn’t know the word ‘wait‘. If you’re not ready, it can be a ghost who will chase and stab you. And if the time turns into a ghost, where are you going to hide?

Yogyakarta, May 23rd, 2019-08.34 a.m.

*) P.S. : I don’t know whether I use the proper grammar or not