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  • [HAIFA, YOU’RE MY FIRST POETRY]

    Posted by PuJa on Desember 7, 2010

    To Haifa Puspita Surya Dewi

    Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
    Translated by Agus B. Harianto

    Listen to the poem O Princess
    The sound of story about this self
    felt when alone
    in Denanyar of sacred prison.

    Near to the town of Jombang,
    a story at the sideways
    showered by half moon
    at there is the principal of legend.

    A pretty and lovely girl,
    hair hanged loosely and nobly as crown
    I was rushing toward her,
    while carrying a sprig of love.

    Her lips closed one day
    gently soft answer like a fairy,
    wise as such Srikandi
    said belated before leaving.

    My soul was dumb
    my spirit be totally silent
    hearing the words from the beloved,
    I took the reality of hurt.

    Puspita Surya Dewi is she called
    so many more know about her
    sweet and pretty enchants
    captivating eyes to every man.

    This is my first poem to you
    before left your town,
    read this gorgeous ballad
    to know the own shadow.

    I went to Jogja knew more the arts
    poetize the time growing more mystery,
    strengthened the origin of longing
    let the wind agreed the past.

    Interpret and touch to the body’s spirit
    express destiny of knowledge (vision)
    because of be unpaired
    we be parted my dear.

    Just memory living in the edge of mind
    I transformed to the sign of the era
    and you become the mother of mysteriousness
    everything flows pulsation.

    Love flies to the beach
    the sea told its waves flapped,
    I transformed to the longing haunts
    amongst them buried jealousy.

    Paid it again my goddess
    I increased with echoes,
    not been swallowed up by the night
    not rotten eaten by the noon.

    I should be honest with you
    my heart grew in pain,
    because the time tearing the age
    inflamed at the side of woman.

    God does everything
    I conquered to His destiny,
    running to pick you up
    to the sweat out.

    If you’re whistling of the wind
    suck my tenderness,
    it’s yours too. Crushed the world
    with the bitter reality of history.

    If you’re lake’s water of your village
    allowed me as the air bubbles
    there was no rainbow
    the poet got it.

    Denanyar 1994

    Filed under: Poems, PUstaka puJAngga

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