2 a.m coffee

two a.m coffee
repeated shows on tv

the same stories
the old memories

faded pieces of herstory

memories once shared
now belonged to the ignorant night

tears and agony
blended in her coffee

coarse, black, bitterly honest

repetition of thought
went on smoldering for years
deeply buried beneath her fears

twas the time for her
to avow her thought

before another pot
of sorrow
be poured in to her tomorrow's show

for two from one

'tis with thorns i come to thee

a drop of poisoned coffee
sipped from ivy's toxic lips

a spoonful of 'monkshood' stew
for thine spirit to chew

sit still and be fully agree with me
if not be
        permanently my silent enemy
for thy victory is my enmity

ye! skinny!

enjoy this conspicuous conspiracy
the enormities endorsed by my toadies

nay!
no confetti in thine party





note:
one is #Jokowi
two is Prabowo
(indonesia's presidential election)

my poetry is about to leave

my poetry is about to leave
the paper will soon be empty

yet every syllable will forever linger
in the stanzas that hold them together

like chocolate
that holds the almond nuts

i'll keep my poetry well

in the clef of my heart she dwells

prayers and faith
be the sandwich on my plate

it's more than a heartbeat
a complete recital in one single beat

(the poetry that stays in my artery and my misery)

the assassin (2)

the nights bless her soul
grant her power to mock other souls
      she feels water like rivers
       flowing through her fingers
tonight, a pile of papers
will be soaked in blood
       the moon will be the only witness
       of a young heart with a grand lust
       to play god over the living dust
metal rifle, fuzzy trigger
bullets aimed on papers
      hit the ailing hearts
      of the losers
      of the loners

the assassin (1)

cold. as the tomb stone in winter
hungry dagger in her fingers
dancing on the souls, who surrender
to the tip of a pen
             (are words that slice
              the stanzas of life)

thousands of knives
stab into the bluish veins
fountains of blood burst
             (the narration of pains
              in the hand of the assassin
the mighty poet with her pens

dare you change the lines?
of such offense to your mind?

somewhere out there. a #poem for MH370

in the hollow of the sky
over the blue mountain high
you left that night
without a single goodbye

tears have run dry
to know things we don't understand
what was the real story?
the evil conspiracy or  that diabolic destiny?

we send prayers in cry
hope you still hang in there
somewhere in the blue
wish he'd grant you mighty wings
if not those magical fins
somewhere out there

poseidon, please don't lie
release them free
they deserve no adversity
stop writing the new chapter 
the story of your enmity
on their bodies

out there....

into the cerulean sea
the whole world desperately  seek
one little hope in the deep

where in the sea
you keep them custody?

the hand of time

the night fell on the lap of the dark
the flickering bulbs swayed slowly
playing with the black shadows
seemed like dancing under the mournful
composition of the midnight rain
   hands, crimson red. grope at his window
   screeching sounds of crooked nails
   filled his chamber with terror
   the hand of time started to write
   elegiac stanzas
   with ink bled from its finger nails
a complete mournful poetry was written
in the dark of the night
right there on his bare back
all the way through his chest
perpetuate his eternal sadness