PUstaka puJAngga

Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto

I don’t know definitely about the suggestion or the singing of belief, a hunch or stray from the path. This is empty exposure because of without any presume or unsuspected entered the dance of the pen but did not expect to lick. Anything pulse was accelerated rhythmically constant into the veil that should be traced where it’s run and you disobeyed it.

Who said that? I have a story; there are wells in our self that is not bailed, it seen so real of dancing but the truth was prancing. Is this the hard soul of musician pinned on the sky of paper? Just realized that this purity just grasped every heart, attracted hunches and skinned grip of tactics. Bent down and did not want to be passed without determination.

Let’s march in the ceremony of suggest ourselves to find conviction and self confidence; this is not the overlapping of imagination. Doesn’t the truth must been searched? Let’s unite in rotation to drown a similar blinded gaffe.

Let’s live along the deed of parenthetically by mobilizing uselessness reincarnate to be great benefit. Because moodily your embankment is far, high and arrogant, flow it to anywhere, but don’t to watermelon plant, because it would be tasteless.

Many of you reckon for the one should be easy, does not the age demand us to be critical? Hence across the thunder of self fear, as cruel as feels the life went bankrupt because of fear. The one who does not trust yourself or your confident was completely fruitless. Although stumbling to run as you pleased.

Because your name is alive, your personality crept in to the change of intention transition. How could hang out without certain destination? It’s funny you think, or you said that I’m silly? This is from nothing to anything, if you bail out or weigh even though turn a somersault, and your mind is affected considerations.

It’s really not brave man to express, whereas you were intended not merely. Let’s come to the imagined, how could you dream about cloud, but the rain will fall. Where is your house? Or, you sheltered on the cemetery beside frangipani of widow.

What will be if you don’t want, the light of the world is getting brighter, and its darkness is also increasing; with thickness of it what do you expect? You’re not being helped if not by your personality; hence your premises were befell by Him unto you.

You became the wrong dissidents; your soul is shackled by orthodox beliefs. It would be softer and passionate but you didn’t listen to it. This is not the storms of the past; did you know that your head has been leaking by stones? It’s really bankrupt that laziness is obeyed.

Take all the memory, throw it forward, there are many catches over there. Or just forget it, at least you just grumbled.

December 5, 2004 / September 2009

Filed under: Essay, Kulya* in deep space of Philosophy, PUstaka puJAngga