Leaving
his tread of age that is similar fate
With
poem created by poet, before
The
wave of time abolishes it
In
once wiping
When
the sun moves to west sky
He
looks at an old wooden boat to be anchored
In
which the twilight as a beginning of nightmare
About
the wind dance turning around
No
notations from sea's fragrance
For
the umpteenth time step, he looks up
Not
to stare at the clouded firmament
Being
appear as a frame of black canvas
There's
no colors there's no drawings
But
the dark heart is smeared by tears
-Sri
Wintala Achmad-
