THE SKETCH OF MIDNIGHT

At night there is no moon
In which you adore her forever
As Tarub for Nawangwulan

At night there is no wind
In which you send message forever
As the fragrant incense for your deceased lover

At night there is no owl sound
In which you crave her forever
As  the clue your heart will be stolen again

At night there is no love poem
After the words are just empty talk
From drunkard having at the edge of street

-Sri Wintala Achmad-

IN FRONT OF THE GRAVEYARD

When awakened

We've a nice dream

When fallen asleep

We think that it's real

We're those people

Liking to fly the kite of dream away

Tending to worship more for the full moon

Than for the sun teaching reality

Behind its extreme hot

When became away, we feel

Having stayed in the building of reversed life

Having no doors, in which we look at the sun

: The guest that will tell

"The fight's happened in battlefield!"

When awakened

We're everlasting dreamers

-Sri Wintala Achmad-

THE POEM

The poem is as pretty mummy

Resting gracefully in the crystal coffin, when

People prefer to worship for darkness sculpture

Sparkling in their temple of heart

As lonely preacher staying in the noisy city

The poem is just drunkard's boast

Worshiping for itself in the night cafe

Of the alienated island

-Sri Wintala Achmad-