The
cloud that flies to the north-east
Making
me to remember for father
Coming
with his love
For
mother, the dry ground
Burnt
by the sun of silence
The
first rainy is father's love
Making
wet for mother's dry heart
Missing
to soft touch on chest
Up to
the morning is as watcher
In
which the life
Being as green as love without dust
Being as green as love without dust
-Sri Wintala Achmad-
