english, puisi

A Raged Heart Cannot Accept Every Living Beauty

That day, the twilight had came earlier
than the examiners conferred the degree to her.
Minutes later, she received lotsa flowers that her friends had handed over ’em to her,
along with red faces, happy tears, and laughters
– as it seen.

Yes. She had received lotsa flowers,
but all of ’em were as dead as a mower.
Despite the similarity in between, a mower was no match to the flowers.
A mower was born as a machine
– had been dead since ’twas born.

But not with those beautiful flowers.
They were born alive, but then picked
and killed
before its own wilting to the death.
They were no longer beautiful,
but commonly recognized as the true living beauty.
Yet, her friends were failed in recognizing it.

Above all, I couldn’t help her too.
She looked joyful.
I had nothing to say, but crescently smiled to her
– she smiled back to me!
I also couldn’t help the joy
her friends had brought indirectly to me.
So I couldn’t stop myself from bein’ joyful.
I was joyful too!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The twilight had gone
as it supposed to be.
When the crowds no longer so loud,
I gave her a medium-sized combed-cotton 20S tee
with words I made myself,
instead lotsa flowers.

Lotsa flowers that were as dead as a mower.

Salatiga, 2017

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