On My Present

By Melly Syafiie

I was just there when you call Me,
I bring a sense of when you tasted Me,
I am with no limits of space and time..

I got into the silence,
speechless, I understand you,

about Me,
ask at your heart,
the lump holy,
which emit light of virtue,
because that's where I was on the throne..

July 3, 2012

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Melly Syafiie. Living in Jakarta.

Ayana Umbrella

By Evi Manalu

The wind carried the song twilight
licking scented torches in the distance the day
heart pounding blend

The wind comes again
This time a rain storm
no greeted
no shaking

Under the Ayana umbrella
there are steps that had agitated
Under the Ayana umbrella
There is a step further restless

April 27, 2012
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Evi Manalu. Lives in Jakarta.

Fading Joy

By Rbe Pramono

The sky is dark and cold and gloom
and thy fragrance of love to the mist disperses;
Slowly our memories creep out of the room
where once united our two universes.
Flirting my soul with thy fading smiles,
the moon launches my senses to the emptiness.
Shall I bridge the distance of a thousand miles
and bring thee back to swim in the sea of madness?
Tonight thou come to my silent rim;
oh sweet rose, I lost the wind thou breeze,
it slips away and come what may.
Hence, through the leaves I whisper my dream
and let the bees thy crimson joy squeeze
and bequeath this love to dim light to slay

Yogyakarta, November 29, 2011
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Rbe Pramono. Lives in Yogyakarta.

Mother and salted fish bites

By Febby Sahla

about mother and child on the archipelago over there

It's about the lights of the capital that we see see her twinkling. Children without protection when held in the motherland and limp without a power vacuum when cold infiltrates the soul.

Their face was so pale that no trace of a smile. Meretricious whatever dogma is so strong hit, already decaying wisdom merged in order that increasingly destroyed.
But, while enjoying the salty fish are served, my face never lost. The look on a map of every field that love I made sure never worn even more inflamed liver.

Son, Mother's not cracked... stay with you looking at, as each mouthful of salted fish trays too slowly, enjoy every chew's, was no less grateful for every crumb in an... I gently wipe the water pooled in the bitterness. Whatever sustenance served us right now.

Mother looked dazed and disheveled in a face-to-lip quiver.
Mother was a fierce thunderstorm, which delivers only have pity.
Although not so tough now, a simple prayer songs remain on the sidelines of the lake was stagnant, and love is not pinned to imagine.

This last mouthful of salted fish and rice that cools...
If no box is left later or deposits that do not live in fear, Mother's testament containers and lids of gratitude in the man of submission. Not worth it... but not difficult when you put it at the heart box and every time you open the lesson again.

{From the street on the way to learn to map any crumbs into learning}

Semarang, February 23, 2011
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Febby Sahla. Writes frequently on social networking sites. Her works can be found there. Living in Semarang.